Past Present
by lastknownwriter
Summary: Dean/Castiel AU. When bar owner Dean Winchester meets Castiel Novak, he is only trying to be friendly to the lonely professor; he never expects to fall in love. When a tragic accident inadvertently erases the life they've built together, will they be able to find each other again? Or will Dean be left with the memory of a love he couldn't save and a heart hardened by fate?
1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester had never believed in second chances. His life so far had been a (not terribly interesting) mishmash of bad choices, rotten luck, and youthful indiscretions. But Dean was no longer youthful, his luck was about to change, and when it mattered, when it _really_ mattered, Dean would discover that sometimes you have to make your own second chance.

...

Dean was a first class, grade-A bartender. He mixed a mean margarita with the perfect proportion of lime to Jose, his bar top was always polished to a mirror sheen, and he had a manner of listening to the patrons who fill his barstools that was magnetic, instinctively understanding when to nod in sympathy and when to offer sage advice.

Most of the time, Dean loved his work. He had been fortunate enough, if you were the glass half-full type, to inherit Joe's from his father after the old man passed away, his big gruff heart finally giving out a few ticks shy of his sixtieth birthday. Dean had spent his twenties wandering in and out of life as a day laborer, taking the odd construction job, working on a fishing vessel for a time when he ventured too close to the ocean on an errant spring break week, and for a brief, truly happy period when he was twenty-five, as a mechanic in a shop that specialized in exotic restorations.

Then John died, and Sam was in the last, brutal throes of law school, and there was no one else. The choice may have been Dean's to make, but Dean had never actually _had_ a choice; let the old man's pub die with him, or continue the legacy and finally settle down in one place.

Dean settled.

He couldn't have been more proud the day he watched Sammy graduate from Stanford Law, unless you counted the day they had hung the freshly painted Winchester Law Firm sign under the awning in front of Sam's tiny office in downtown Lawrence, Kansas. That Sam could have taken his gargantuan brain to any corner of the country and found success, but chose instead to dig his roots deeper in the town they grew up in, well, it was humbling. Dean was also happy to have a pair of extra hands on busy weekends at the pub, and until Sam's practice took off, Sam was only too happy to have the extra income.

Dean had Sam, and Sam had Dean, and even though they would have families of their own some day and live separate, full lives, there was something to be said for remembering your beginnings and keeping perspective.

Right now, all six foot four inches of that perspective was swatting Dean's ass with a thin white dishcloth, breaking into his sentimental reverie.

"Ow, asshole," Dean grumbled, rubbing the stinging patch of skin over his left cheek.

"Take a picture, it would last longer, you big creeper." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, but frowned too, nodding his head in the direction of the barstool in front of Dean. The barstool currently occupied by a man wearing a bemused expression, having watched the exchange with interest.

Dean flushed, wondering how long he had been staring at the stranger, without really seeing him. He slung his own dishtowel over his shoulder and let his most cheeky, dimpled grin alight his face. This was the grin good tips were made of; it had been rumored that when Dean Winchester fully turned on the charm there was not a living, breathing body on the planet –male or female– who could resist him.

He leaned one elbow on the bar and got his first really good look at his new customer in the dim overhead fluorescents. The most impossibly blue eyes Dean had ever seen gazed solemnly back at him and his grin faltered as he sucked a breath between his teeth. _Holy shit. _

He recovered quickly, and slapped the bar. "What can I get for you tonight?"

The man cocked an eyebrow, distracting Dean again when his elegant fingertips began to drum against the shining surface beneath his arms.

Dean was a sucker for nice hands.

He dragged his eyes back to the man's face and mentally shook himself. He should probably get some quality time with his mattress tonight; he was losing it.

"Whatever's on tap, thanks." The deep rasp of the voice carried easily over the pub noise, a surprising contrast to the man's appearance. He was a strange mix, those pretty eyes paired with a strong, masculine jaw line.

Dean realized that he was staring, mind wandering again, when the man's fingers faltered in their staccato tapping. Dean slapped the bar once more, causing the man seated in the next stool to jump. He hastily grabbed a clean mug from the shelf behind him and strode purposefully down the bar to the tap the farthest from his new customer. Technically, sure, he had to pass two perfectly good taps to do so, but Dean suddenly needed the extra breathing room.

"Wow, what is _with_ _you_ tonight?" Sam hissed as he squeezed behind Dean to grab a handful of maraschino cherries.

Dean grunted in reply and carried the mug back to its intended target. He slid a paper napkin next to it on the bar, waving his hand at the bills held up in exchange. "On the house," he said, grinning again, this one genuine and friendly. "Welcome to Joe's."

The man hesitated but pocketed his money, nodding a mussed, dark head once in Dean's direction before taking his beer and sliding off the stool. Before he disappeared into the crowd, Dean was treated to a brief view of trim hips and a pale, fitted button down. It was a good look, Dean mused. But not really Joe's normal clientele. He wondered what had brought the man here, before losing the fledgling spark of interest to the raucous catcalls of a group of bridesmaids, who begged Dean for a song and a round of jello shots.

Dean obliged the girls their shots, even allowing one or two off his abs (flat front trousers and button-downs quickly forgotten, and besides, Sam's pinched expression of disgust tickled him). He drew the line at a song, though, his guitar tucked safely away in the back. Another night, he promised, lying.

He never gave the man another thought. So he didn't see the hot blue gaze that followed him as he worked the bar, serious eyes trained on the black t-shirt as it was pushed high under Dean's armpits to allow room for shot glasses and eager lips. Dean didn't see how the man excused himself not long afterward, abandoning the pouting females seated in the booth with him, or how he disappeared into the dark night, alone.

…

The second time Dean found the man on his barstool, he was paying full attention. The guy's hair was still dark and messy, his eyes still just as blue, and tonight he had the addition of a dark stubble shadowing his firm jaw. But just as before, the rest of him was neat as a pin, right down to the crisp, starched look of his shirt, as though it had been freshly plucked from a dry cleaner's bag.

Dean raised his eyebrows at him, gesturing to the tap.

The man nodded, and seemed surprised that Dean remembered.

Dean felt a little thrill at exactly how _much_ he remembered about that first night as he filled the mug, watching the amber liquid as it rolled out of the spout and into the glass, focusing carefully on the angle to prevent too much foam. And maybe to prevent Dean's gaze from wandering back to his patron unnecessarily.

He remembered, for example, how appealing he had found the incongruousness of the man's conservative, stuffy clothing in conjunction with the bed hair that spiked at odd angles. And how his dress shirt had had a slight sheen in the overhead lights. Dean carefully set the mug in front of his new customer and took a chance, leaning down on an elbow.

"So."

An eyebrow quirked up, this time accompanied by an inquisitive head tilt. The man's long fingers toyed with the handle on the mug. "So."

Dean grinned. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The man chuckled softly at the extremely lame opener and the tension bled away. Dean allowed himself to enjoy, briefly, the way the man's eyes crinkled at the edge when he laughed.

"No, I'm not. I'm in town to catalog an archaeological dig not far from here." He took a sip of his beer, eyes intense and steady on Dean's face.

Dean tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. He vaguely remembered reading something about an important Native American find outside of Lawrence, in the tall grass prairies. He should really pay more attention to the local news. He wiped his hands on the apron tied at his waist and held one out in welcome. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel Novak. Pleased to meet you, Dean."

The man's grasp was firm and warm in his hand, and he had the name of an angel, Dean mused, before realizing he had yet to let go. He pulled away abruptly, and felt his neck burn. _Dammit_. He glanced at Castiel, but thankfully his discomfit seemed to have gone unnoticed. He rubbed the back of his neck anyway, willing the telltale blush away. "Interesting name," he muttered, then wished he had held his tongue.

Castiel just smiled, though, and raised his glass in salute. "My mother," he said, as his only explanation. Dean could tell there was most definitely more to that story, and wondered if he would be privy to it at some point. "And you're not Joe," Castiel commented, nodding his head in the direction of the neon sign hanging above the bar.

"Ahh, no," Dean shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I don't even know who Joe is, or if there ever _was_ a Joe, I mean, other than my brother's scrawny wife." He gestured wide, encompassing the room with a sweep of his hands. "My dad left me the bar, and he owned it his whole life. As far as I know, it was always just…Joe's."

Dean looked wistful at the end of his declaration and Castiel bowed his head once in deference. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, understanding there was loss there, without needing to be told.

Dean nodded his acceptance, and found his throat strangely tight. "So," he said again, maybe a bit too loudly. "How goes the archaeology business?" He dug a white rag from his back pocket and began polishing the already shining bar top just for something to do with his hands. The fact was he had plenty to do behind the scenes: jot down last night's deposit in his accounting logbook, open and sort the fruits before tonight's rush. It was ladies night, so there would be plenty of fruity drinks with umbrellas to serve up.

Instead he found himself leaning on the bar, wiping lazy circles a few inches from where Castiel's forearm now rested.

Castiel grimaced in reply. "Dirty."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I suppose it is. Still, that's pretty cool. I've never seen a real archaeology site before, outside of the History Channel, I mean."

"Would you like to," Castiel asked, surprising them both if the expression on his face was any indication.

Dean's hands stilled. "Yeah," he said enthusiastically, before he had time to think. "I mean," he hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I have to work tonight," he trailed off. "Obviously."

Castiel took another sip. "Obviously," he inclined his head, and Dean had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to hide a smile in his beer. "What are you doing tomorrow morning?"

Dean groaned inwardly. He would be lucky if he left the bar before three a.m., and then he would turn around and come right back by two or three in the afternoon to work on inventory before opening for the five o'clock crowd. But he heard himself saying, "Not a damn thing," instead.

"Pick you up here? About ten?" Castiel slid a five-dollar bill under his empty mug before standing to go.

"Sure," Dean exhaled, and laid a steadying hand against the bar. What the _hell_ just happened?

He was stuck in his musing, still staring after Castiel's retreating form when Jo appeared at his elbow and prodded him sharp in the ribs. He jumped a foot.

"Jesus, Jo, you scared the shit outta me," he gasped, barely catching himself before he clutched a hand to his chest like a little girl.

"What was Professor Novak doing in here," she asked gesturing toward the door.

He stared dumbly at her until she rolled her eyes. "Earth to Dean, have you been sampling the merchandising again? What's the matter with you?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he swatted her hand away before stalking behind her to pick up the tub of clean mugs that needed to be stacked on the bar shelves.

"He was spaced out all last night too," Sam said, bending over to tap a quick kiss to his wife's lips as he swung behind the bar. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was smitten."

Dean snorted, tucking thoughts of the handsome stranger away for the time being. "And I told Dad I wanted a _brother_."

He may have been older, but he was still quick enough to dodge the headlock that swiftly loomed over him, at least until Sam decided to cheat and use one obnoxiously long leg to pin Dean against the bar. He and Sam wrestled for control for a moment before Jo smacked both of them upside the head as she made her way to the storeroom. Just like that, Dean's night was suddenly brighter.

And if he watched the crowded bar extra close that night for another glimpse of messy dark hair, he would never admit it.

…

It was much later when it finally dawned on him what Joanna had actually said. In fact, it was so late Dean was already on his way home, paused at a red light when he remembered her words and dragged his phone out of his hip pocket to tap out a text.

_Professor Novak? Professor of what? _He huffed in frustration when the light turned green and he had to slide the phone back in his pocket. It vibrated shortly after, and he nudged the gas perhaps a little more than he normally would to get to his driveway. He was almost home.

He pulled the phone out again before turning off the key, and read her reply. _Professor of Archaeology I guess? He's visiting adjunct at KU this semester._

Dean tapped out _Oh _but realized he had nothing further to add. He smirked, knowing how much his brother's wife hated single word replies, and hit "send".

He didn't have long to wait. He had barely unlocked his front door before the phone was buzzing in his hand. _Dean Winchester you're pissing me off. How do you know Professor Novak? Are you trying to get in his pants?_

Dean stumbled as he crossed his threshold. Goddamn Sammy and his goddamn overactive imagination. He was _not gay. _Oh my God.

_No, Joanna Beth, I'm not trying to "get into his pants". Barely know the guy. _He hit send but immediately typed out another text. _Tell my brother he's an asshole. G'night._

He turned his phone off so he wouldn't hear Jo's reply. Silly woman would keep him up all night if he let her. She was a fiendish texter while he could barely chicken peck out a few choice words. Although now that Jo had taken it upon herself to set up his dictionary, his phone was starting to recognize commonly used words and phrases and he didn't look like such a moron anymore. His vocabulary might also be improving, although he'd never admit that to Jo.

He peeled his black tee off and dropped it in the laundry basket behind the bathroom door, then turned on the shower. As he soaped his hair and let the hot water sluice the smoke and bar smell from his body, he wondered what the _hell _kind of vocabulary he was going to have to make use of to converse with a professor.

"_Fuck_," he swore under his breath. But even so, he couldn't tamp down the little thrill of excitement he felt about the next day.

…


	2. Chapter 2

Dean swung the Impala into the pub parking lot with ten minutes to spare. Just enough time to get good and worked up over whether he was underdressed or overdressed, and what the hell was he going to talk to a stranger about all day anyway, before Castiel pulled in next to him. When he climbed from his car he shattered all of Dean's illusions about the state of the professor's staid closet.

Not that he'd spent a lot of time contemplating Castiel's wardrobe. At all.

Castiel was at Dean's driver-side window before Dean could pull his key from the ignition. Dean caught himself right before his gaze dropped the length of Castiel's body, and he forcibly dragged his eyes back to the man's smiling face. But not before he noticed Castiel was dressed in jeans, worn thin and frayed in the thigh, and a John Deere green t-shirt with a hole at the hem, right over his fly. Okay, so maybe Dean's eyes _had _dropped the length of his body; Dean hoped Castiel hadn't noticed.

When Castiel leaned on his arms in the open window, his face was mere inches from Dean's.

Dean thought he might like to count the very faint freckles scattered across the bridge of Cas' nose, if he had the time.

And when exactly did the professor become _Cas?_

Dean realized he was having an unusual reaction to the man's nearness, a buzz of electricity that he normally attributed to hot bridesmaids. Or strippers. So he covered his discomfort the way he normally did: with deflection and humor.

"So nice to see you got dressed up for our first _date_, Cas." He air quoted and then felt like an idiot, face hot. He placed a hand on the door handle, but Cas didn't back up to let him out.

"Just taking my cue from you, Mr. Winchester," Cas ribbed, eyes twinkling as he noticeably raked his gaze over Dean's t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey," Dean protested, feeling his face warm further. "I'll have you know, this is one of my best t-shirts." And it was. Vintage AC/DC at its finest.

Cas snorted, standing up and arching his back as he stretched, arms high over his head. Dean ignored the strip of pale skin that appeared when the hem of the t-shirt rode up. Cas dropped his hands to his hips and winked. "I'll make sure to do all the dirty work for you today then."

Dean refused to acknowledge the way Cas' deep inflection on _dirty _stoked something in all the right places, and instead made a show of patting the Impala's hood before opening the passenger door of Cas' car, a small silver hybrid. Totally foreign, he thought, before turning back to his car, grimacing. "Sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you later, promise."

"Oh shut up, asshole," Cas said, chuckling, as he slid into the driver's seat.

They fell into a companionable silence as Cas pulled onto the state highway, turning away from downtown.

"Do you have a preference?" Cas fiddled with the dials on the sound system.

Dean silently reminded himself to stop staring at Cas' hands.

"Uh, no, not really." Dean blinked. Wait. Of _course_ he had a preference. What the hell was the matter with his mouth?

The mournful sounds of classical piano streamed quietly through the speakers. Too late to voice an opinion, Dean had to admit the music suited the driver in a way Dean's own classic rock probably suited him.

_Strike two_, Dean thought, if anyone was keeping score. Should he be keeping score?

"Do you play?" Cas asked, noticing the way Dean's eyes were trained on the CD changer.

"Piano? Nah, man. But I strum a little guitar." Dean fidgeted in his seat. He could use a little Zeppelin right now to calm his nerves. "Do you?"

Cas' fingers began to tap in time to the rolling chords wafting from the speakers. "Yeah," Cas shrugged. "It's just a hobby, I'm not terribly good anymore."

"Were you once, though?" And now this was an image Dean would never be able to scrub from his brain; Cas seated at a baby grand piano, dressed in something elegant. No, wait. Dressed exactly as he was now, grungy jeans and day-old beard, playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, intense expression on his face.

Dean wanted nothing more than to be in that moment, for real. Maybe classical music wasn't so bad.

"So, tell me, Dean. What do you do for fun? Hobbies?"

Dean frowned. "I work?" He didn't really have hobbies. Or fun. Unless sex counted. Did sex count as a hobby? Dean's pretty sure Cas wasn't asking about his sex life, though.

Cas just laughed. "Yeah, me too."

Dean liked the way the grin lit up Cas' face and he found himself grinning back.

"So we're both workaholics with polar opposite taste in music and cars. Sports?" Dean relaxed against the seat, some of his nervousness sliding away.

"Lacrosse," Cas said, lower lip between his teeth to hold back a smile.

Dean groaned. "Football."

"European or American," Cas asked, one brow raised.

"American," Dean exclaimed indignantly.

Cas sighed and shook his head, as if disappointed, but Dean could see the way his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Where did you grow up?" Cas slowed to a stop at a four-way, slanting his body slightly toward Dean's as he waited for an answer.

"Here. Kansas." Dean tried not to notice the way Cas' t-shirt tightened over his chest and shoulders when he turned to face him, and failed miserably. In his mind, he could still see the button down as it glowed in the fluorescent light of the bar last night, how smoothly it had fit across the planes of Cas' chest and abdomen before disappearing neatly into his trousers.

"Maine," Cas chuckled, interrupting Dean's reminiscence. "We're hopeless."

"Did you always want to be an archaeologist?" Dean couldn't really see Cas in an Indiana Jones get up, and honestly, summer blockbusters equated the sum total of Dean's exposure to the field of archaeology. He could, however, easily see Cas as an investment banker, or maybe a lawyer. Something in a nicely tailored suit.

Dean swallowed, throat dry. He could practically feel his masculinity drying up and withering away with his sudden preoccupation with Cas' clothing.

"No, not always." Cas shook his head. "Don't laugh, but I wanted to be a librarian," he said sheepishly.

Dean barely contained a groan of frustration. _Mother of Christ_. Yet another kink he didn't know he had. He was beginning to think this outing was a seriously bad idea.

Cas mistook his silence for disbelief. "What, you don't think I could pull it off?" He leaned over to pop the glove box open, elbow brushing Dean's knee.

Dean held his breath and hoped Cas didn't notice the way he tensed up at his nearness.

He could smell his damn shampoo. Jesus.

Mercifully, Cas found what he was searching for and flourished a pair of glasses triumphantly, before he slid the frames into place. "See? Librarian chic."

Dean did groan then, audibly. _Fuck. _He felt lightheaded, like he was falling, and realization dawned.

But Cas laughed again, mistaking the look on Dean's face and oblivious to his epiphany, pushing the glasses atop his head. "Well, it didn't work out, anyway. I fell in love with history even more than books."

Dean decided the safest course of action at this point was to just lose himself in the sound of Cas' voice as he talked. He didn't even remember to tell Cas that here, finally, they had something in common, because Dean loved books and always had. He was too distracted by the sudden, irrefutable acknowledgement that he was hopelessly attracted to the animated archaeologist seated next to him.

So instead, he concentrated on breathing in and out. And in and out.

_Shit. _Dean really needed to talk to Sam.

...


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was going to have to settle for freaking out via text to Sam later. (Although, as a rule, he preferred to leave his emotional crises without any form of paper trail. Sam could be a real bitch about using Dean's very occasional moments of weakness against him at the most inopportune times. Like, say, Christmas dinner. At Bobby's. In the presence of Ellen and Jo and half the staff of the pub.)

He and Cas arrived at the dig site long before they were forced to endure any awkward "riding in cars with strangers" silence. And before Dean acted on an intense and incredibly inappropriate desire to _lick_ the rough stubble on Cas' jaw. So, crisis averted. Somewhat.

Dean unfolded himself from the passenger seat and looked around. As far as important historical sites go, he was less than impressed, but he schooled his expression carefully, lest Cas see his disappointment. They had essentially parked in a field, and other than the half dozen or so neat squares cut approximately ten inches deep into the soil, it looked like any other Kansas roadside.

Cas walked around the front of the car jiggling the keys in his hand, and for one heartstopping moment Dean thought he must have read his mind on the whole chin licking thing because the professor didn't slow until he was entirely into Dean's personal bubble. Dean had to physically restrain himself from taking a step back. Cas was _so close_, Dean could feel his body heat through the thin t-shirt he wore. If he breathed too deeply, Dean's forearm was going to brush against Cas' stomach.

So Dean didn't breathe.

"Kind of disappointing, right?"

Dean blinked. "Huh?" Oh God. At this distance, in the bright morning sun, Dean could see the way Cas' deep blue iris was ringed in navy, spokes of a different hue circling the pupil.

Cas tilted his head as he studied Dean. "Most people expect fancy equipment, or excavated ruins or something."

Dean realized Cas was talking about the field. "Oh! Yeah, I mean, no. Not disappointed. I," he swallowed hard. "I didn't know what to expect, so…" he trailed off helplessly as Cas' brow furrowed even more. Holy Christ, how does someone look that freaking hot while frowning? Dean suddenly felt sorry for Cas' students. They must have a hell of a time paying attention in class.

If Cas found Dean's behavior odd, he was doing a good job of hiding it, because the next thing he knew, Dean was being tugged along by the arm, a press of fingers into the muscle of his bicep that ended all too briefly.

"How about the grand tour then? Archaeology one-oh-one." Cas was in front of Dean now, walking backward across the grassy earth, strangely graceful. Dean was thankful for the widening space between them so he could breathe a little easier, but the full frontal assault of _Professor Novak_ as he began to explain the dig site kicked up butterflies in Dean's stomach.

They stopped at one of the squares, the edges cleanly excised, the grass unperturbed around the perimeter. A yellow flag atop a thin metal rod was planted to the left of where Cas kneeled, and he explained that the flag represented an artifact find.

Dean nodded when he thought it was appropriate, or when he felt Cas' eyes linger a shade too long on his face. He didn't understand everything, but he liked the way Cas' fingers sifted through the soft overturned earth, and the earnest way Cas' eyes lit up as he told Dean about the Native American oral myths he really wanted to research in conjunction with this and other nearby digs. Dean especially liked the way Cas' lips formed around the words, maybe just as much as the sound of his warm, smoky voice.

The dry Kansas air tore at their clothes in strong gusts. Dean was beginning to understand Cas' perpetually messy hairdo, and blinked hard to keep the whorls of dust from lodging in his eyes.

And then, because Dean was fate's bitch, things took a hard turn south.

Dean allowed Cas to talk him into sitting next to one of the unflagged squares of earth with him, and try his hand at excavating.

"First rule of archaeology," Cas handed Dean a trowel with a wickedly sharp edge. "Never place your shovel on the ground blade up."

Dean smirked. "Looks like one of my brother Sam's garden trowels."

"Your brother a gardener?" Cas demonstrated slicing carefully through the hard-packed earth.

"Uh, no. He's a lawyer." Dean practiced shaving his own bit of dirt off the smooth inner edge, scowling when it proved more difficult than it appeared. "You might have seen him at the bar. Long hair. Disturbingly tall. Chicks falling at his feet."

Cas laughed, a low breathy sound as he dug in at an angle on a particularly stubborn bit of dirt. "What's a lawyer doing tending bar?"

Dean shrugged. "Partly to help me out, good bartender's more difficult to find than you'd think, and partly for the extra cash. You might know his wife, Jo, she's a student at KU."

Cas hummed as he pressed the tiny clumps of dirt through a sifter. "Jo Winchester? I don't think she's in any of my classes. I would have recognized the name when you gave me yours."

Dean squirmed. Cas' oddly precise phrasing, combined with an intense scrutiny as Cas brushed his fingertips lightly across the holes of the sieve, wrecked havoc on Dean's senses. He welcomed the next gust of wind, because he was suddenly burning up. He tried not to imagine all of that focus and intensity directed solely at him and failed miserably.

He should really text Sam now.

He reached into his back hip pocket for his phone, and leaned heavily on the opposite hand in the dirt beside him.

"Mother_fucker,_" he yelped, and yanked his hand to his chest. He had broken the first rule of archaeology and laid his trowel in the dirt, face up.

Cas was on him in seconds, pulling his hand close to look at the damage. He pressed hard on the wound with the hem of Dean's t-shirt, even as bright red blood dripped down Dean's wrist.

Dean hissed in response. "My shirt."

"Dean," Cas said exasperated. He pulled Dean to his feet and dragged him toward the car, positioning him near the back as he popped the trunk. "Hold here," he said, pressing Dean's fingers against the cut.

Dean wished he could more fully appreciate the warm tingle shooting up his spine at the way Cas had manhandled him up from the ground, but there was no time before Cas was peeling back fingers and t-shirt and squirting cold water over the wound from a bottle he fished from a cooler.

"Son of a bitch." Dean grimaced. The blade had been as sharp as it looked, and as the water washed the blood and dirt away, Dean could see the cut was neat but thankfully shallow. Another inch and bit more weight and he might have lost a pinky finger.

"Sorry," Cas said, low. He handed Dean the bottle of water. "Keep pouring this over it, it needs to be cleaned." He turned back to the trunk and grabbed another bottle of water and a first aid kit.

The cold helped numb the area somewhat, but even so, when Cas decided it was clean enough to dab with iodine, Dean flinched; not so much at the burn, but at the electricity that spiked from his arm to his stomach with every slide of Cas' thumb as he rubbed in unconscious circles on Dean's wrist. Once he was satisfied that the wound was clean and disinfected, Cas expertly wrapped the cut with gauze and a roll of bandages. His hair brushed against Dean's cheek as he worked to fasten the surgical tape, head bowed over his handiwork, hands gentle.

When he finished, he looked up at Dean and said, "I guess this part of the day was a bust, huh?"

Dean couldn't decide if he was more disappointed that the day was apparently over or that Cas was moving away, taking his body heat with him. He shivered, in spite of the noonday sun beating down. For all his worry about finding things to talk about, or his confusing reactions to Cas himself, Dean was shocked to realize he'd had more fun in the past two hours than he'd had in a really long time. In a dry, windblown, prairie field with a stranger.

He supposed bringing an amateur on a visit to your archaeological site lost some of the appeal when your visitor impaled himself on a shovel, though.

Dean grimaced, thinking of the shit ton of work still facing him at the bar. He had just opened his mouth to request that Cas drop him off, when the professor turned back and smiled. "So. What do you want to do next?"

Dean patently ignored the strange flutter of…excitement? Relief? But…the pub. The pub would not be ignored.

"Truthfully? I really need to get some inventory sorted out before we open tonight." Which sucked, but maybe it was for the best if Dean cut his losses here; clearly Cas wasn't nearly as affected by Dean as Dean was by Cas, and a little distance and time for processing wouldn't hurt either.

And then there was the whole _Hi, my name is Dean Winchester and I've never been attracted to a man before _thing. Dean definitely needed to process the hell out of that.

Cas dropped the lid of the trunk closed. "OK. Let's do that."

Dean's jaw dropped open.

Cas grinned, head tilting. "What?"

"I, uh," Dean stammered. "You wan to help me do inventory?" He couldn't help but sound incredulous. Inventory was boring ass hell. Everyone knew that.

"Dean, what do you think archaeologists _do_ day in and day out?" Cas waved his arms to indicate the dig site. "I inventory tiny bone chips and shards of ancient pottery. You inventory booze." He winked as he passed Dean to climb back into the car. At the last possible second he dipped his head low to Dean's ear, and the deep tenor of his voice sent a shiver all the way to Dean's toes. "The only difference is, they have to call me _doctor_."

Dean snapped his mouth shut in time with the slamming of the driver's side door. He grinned. So maybe Cas wasn't so immune after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**__ Thank you, all of you sweet readers who PM'd me or left a review! I started writing this for me alone, a soft, easy love story for my OTP, Dean and Cas, when I couldn't find a story that portrayed them the way I see them in my head. Then, I was loving it so much, I took a chance that someone else would want to read their story too. Things are heating up around here. Ahem._

_..._

When Sam and Jo arrived at the bar that afternoon, they stopped short at the sight of Cas behind the bar, stacking mugs, white apron tied around his slim hips. He offered them a wide smile and Jo swallowed loudly. Sam glared down at her, but she just shrugged. '_What',_ she mouthed at him.

"Cas, have you seen the…" Dean trailed off when he saw his brother and sister-in-law. 'Oh, hey." His gaze darted between the three and he cleared his throat nervously. "Um, Castiel Novak, this is my brother, Sam, and his wife Joanna."

Cas wiped his hands on the apron and stepped forward, smile still genuine and friendly.

Sam shook his hand, appraising Cas in one slow sweep.

To his credit, Cas didn't even blink. He offered his hand to Jo, who broke the tension by pumping it up and down excitedly. "Professor Novak, I'm a huge fan of your work."

And that, finally, flustered Cas, who rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and looked pleadingly at Dean. Dean shrugged and grinned. Blushing and disconcerted was a good look on Cas.

Cas, it turned out, was an organizational fiend. He could look at a box of supplies and practically pull a spreadsheet from thin air, neatly titled and color coordinated for ease of reading. When Dean whined that he would never be able to maintain such a rigid system, Cas scowled and told him he was being pig-headed and ungrateful.

Jo took Cas' side.

Dean called her a traitor.

Sam stepped between the three before things could get heated and dragged Dean to the kitchen, where he shoved cases of frozen beef patties at him and nodded at the walk-in cooler. "Stock, Romeo."

"Oh, fuck you, Sammy," Dean groused, but he propped open the walk-in's door and began stacking the cases of hamburger on the stainless steel shelves inside.

Sam chuckled, noting with amusement that Dean's cheeks were tinged a rosy hue. "So, really. What's going on?"

Dean kept his back to Sam, and took his time lining up the edges of the cases of meat. "Hmm?" Dean was nothing if not a master at stalling.

"Oh come on, Dean. You practically drooled all over this guy a few nights ago when he showed up on your end of the bar, and today you've got him helping out with inventory? You never let _anyone_ behind the bar. I've just," Sam paused, gentling his tone. "I've never seen you like this."

Dean closed the cooler door, then leaned against it, letting his head fall back with a thud. "I don't know, man," he groaned. His eyes drifted closed and he felt, suddenly, bone-crushingly tired.

"What did you do to your hand, anyway?" Sam moved on to the next pile of stock, an array of paper and styrofoam products. He used a box cutter to carefully slit the packing tape.

Dean surveyed the increasingly dirty gauze wrapped around his palm. "I cut it out at Cas' dig site." He pointedly ignored Sam's raised eyebrows. "And, I like him, okay? He's a nice guy and I think he's lonely."

Sam smirked. "So, do you _like_ like him?"

Dean threw a stack of styrofoam carryout boxes at his head. "God, Sammy, what do you think?" But Dean's stomach clenched with nerves and he held his breath as he awaited Sam's answer.

Sam shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "I think I've never seen anyone more your type in my entire life." He winked at Dean. "Of any gender."

Dean released the pent up breath. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. The flood of relief made him dizzy.

"No, but seriously, Dean," Sam paused, and Dean could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "I personally don't care who you hook up with, you know that. But I don't know that the entire population of Joe's is ready for the Dean Winchester Gay Romance Hour."

Dean grimaced. "Very funny." Then he sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "You know, this is hands down the weirdest conversation we have ever had."

"I'm just saying, you should probably take every precaution." Sam smirked again. "And I don't mean just in the dirty way."

"Oh my God, Sam, gross!" Dean threw the whole case of Styrofoam at him then, and Sam was laughing too hard to duck. _Bullseye_.

Sam's words gave Dean something to ponder while he finished stocking the freezer, and even after, long into the night. Sam was right (_of course_, Sam was usually right, although Dean would deny he thought so on pain of death). Dean Winchester was a renowned ladies man. The patrons of Joe's, and his extended family and friends, would certainly take note if Dean suddenly started dating a guy. He licked his lips nervously and his eyes sought out the man in question from across the bar. Cas was refilling the flavored syrup bottles, bottom lip between his teeth as he concentrated on his task.

And there was the rub; Dean couldn't explain it. He had no backstory for anyone who might have a hard time believing he was falling for a guy, because he barely believed it himself. Cas was just…Cas. He was smart and intense and funny, and so blindingly hot that Dean's tongue was tied in knots the second Cas turned that heated blue gaze on him.

Truthfully, Dean wasn't sure why half the population of Lawrence wasn't in love with Cas, regardless of their sexual preference.

Of course, Dean also had not one fucking clue if Cas felt the same way about him. But he was willing to linger, dancing around the professor's periphery, until he could puzzle it out.

Cas stayed and ate a burger and fries, fresh from the kitchen, after they finished with inventory and stocking. Then he stayed to help tend bar, surprisingly awesome at it, having served a few drinks while working his way through college. He and Dean had an easy symmetry as they worked, each attuned to the other's movements and personal space.

Sam ribbed that Dean's new boyfriend most definitely had the chops, at which point Dean felt obliged to trip him. Cas, having overheard the exchange, carefully stepped over the tray of newly inventoried (and now shattered) glassware, and proceeded to ignore the both of them for a solid thirty minutes. He relented only after Dean promised to let him make a new spreadsheet.

At one a.m. a group of bridesmaids approached the bar, totally smashed and asking for a "Winchester Special". Cas turned to Dean, perplexed, and repeated their request. Dean blushed hard, grateful for the dim lights of the bar, and smiled at the girls.

"No ab shots tonight, ladies, sorry."

"Oh," the one wearing a veil said, lower lip pressed forward in a pout, then she laser focused on Cas. "So what about you, handsome? You interested?" She leaned over the bar, affording Cas a view straight down her low-cut top.

Cas opened his mouth to reply but Dean was already there, wedging himself between Cas and the pack of leering women. "Not tonight," Dean said firmly.

When he turned away, both Cas and Sam were watching him in amusement. "Not a word, either of you," he said crossly. No sleezy bachelorette party was going to be licking their way up Cas' abs on his watch. He gritted his teeth at the mental picture he had just supplied his already overheated imagination. Only it wasn't a horny bridesmaid's lips on Cas' torso.

Just before one, he and Cas found themselves alone in the empty kitchen.

"Cas," Dean smiled tiredly. "You've been a godsend today. But you really don't have to stay."

Cas tilted his head. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Dean?"

Dean huffed a laugh. Hardly. Jesus. The man was absolutely _lethal_ at the bar. Women _and_ men were falling all over him, and honest to God even Sammy in his longest hair phase hadn't nabbed those kinds of tips on a Thursday night. "No, I'm just saying, if you're tired—" he hesitated. He didn't know what he was saying. And Cas had stepped closer while he spoke until now only the scantest few inches separated them.

"I'm staying." Cas' eyes dropped to Dean's lips for a second, then farther down, to his bandaged hand. "How's the hand holding up? We should probably clean and re-bandage it."

"Stings like a mother," Dean admitted. "But I'll survive til closing."

Cas' hand was ghosting over his now, fingertips lightly tracing the white gauze. "I'll change these before you go home." And goddammit if his voice hadn't dropped a full octave.

Dean felt his stomach quiver in response. He swallowed.

Cas leaned in a fraction of an inch more, eyes falling to Dean's lips again.

"Hey guys, we really need more cherries out here!"

Dean jumped back at Jo's declaration, but the petite blonde had already swung back through the kitchen door.

Dean licked his lips. "I'll get those," he said, voice embarrassingly husky. And then he put some much-needed distance between them before his head exploded all over his nice, clean kitchen.

…

Cas, true to his word, stayed until the last customer was ushered through the door, and while he and Sam swept floors and wiped tables, they geeked out over a mutual love of the American Revolution. Dean watched them, bemused, from his seat at the bar as he counted down the till. He wondered just how the heck Cas' hair had gotten so crazy messed up.

He also _might _have been replaying the moment in the kitchen on a loop in his head.

As if he could read his mind, Cas caught his eye from across the bar where he leaned on the long broom handle and gave Dean a slow wink. Flustered, Dean looked quickly back at the stack of bills in his hand. His neck burned, prickly heat warming his face. _Fuck. _He swore under his breath when he realized he had totally lost count, and had to start all over.

_...  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_...  
_

It was shockingly easy, the routine that emerged in the days that followed. Dean would drive out to the dig site in the morning to keep Cas company (or, as Cas observed, to make the grad students crazy with his constant questioning and heavy-handed "help"). Dean's brand of organization left much to be desired, though Cas was loathe to tell him so. The fond way in which his eyes followed Dean did not escape the notice of his students, who secretly delighted that Professor Novak was _finally_ going to get that uptight stick out of his ass. So Dean's messy presence was tolerated by all, and treasured by one in particular.

Most evenings, Cas had dinner with Dean at the pub, often sticking around to fill in at the bar if it got busy or Sam was working late. Paperwork and grading beckoned occasionally, and on those nights he would appear under the neon _Joe's_ sign, near closing time, and stay after to help clean up. Dean always fussed, insisting that Cas should have stayed home, skipped it, but it was Cas' favorite part of the day. After two a.m., when all of the patrons were gone and Dean had that sleepy, satisfied look about him, when his supercharged sexuality was mellowed, gruff humor tucked away for the night, they would sweep the floors and stack chairs and talk about their day with quiet voices and small smiles.

It was kind of Dean's favorite part of the day too.

Dean joked that he was going to put Cas on the payroll, but he was drawing the line at dental.

Cas said he could probably swing him an honorary doctorate, if Dean would leave the grad assistants alone long enough that they actually finished their research on time.

Cas got sick of diner food, Chinese takeout and pizza delivery eventually, and showed up one night with a bag of groceries and a cast iron skillet. Dean eyed the proceedings warily but ate the end product with gusto. He never realized he was voluntarily consuming vegetables, and Cas thought it prudent to let it go unnoticed.

Cas accepted the five-dollar bill Sam grudgingly slid across the bar to him the next night with a smirk. They both ignored Dean's confused scowl.

By silent mutual agreement, the _almost_ _something_ from that night in the kitchen was never mentioned. Or repeated, much to Dean's increasing chagrin. He still thought about it, a near-constant, growing need that rolled in his gut. Sometimes he would stand in the corner and watch Cas work the bar, turning on the charm, enough so that Dean would feel jealousy wash through him, a physical rush of white-hot possessiveness. But then Cas would move against him, unnecessarily close, offering a brief squeeze to his wrist or brushed fingertips across the base of his neck, a whispered comment in his ear, for Dean alone, in the loud chaos of the night.

Dean lived for those moments of contact. But the perpetual rise and fall dance of emotions was giving him an ulcer.

…

Sam appeared on Dean's doorstep on a Sunday, pizza and a movie night, three sheets to the wind. Cas answered the bell and Sam nearly fell into the foyer.

"Hey, Casss," Sam slurred, manhandling him into a bearhug.

Cas grunted under Sam's weight as the taller man leaned heavily on his shoulders. He peered out the open door, but Jo was nowhere to be seen; neither, for that matter, was Sam's car.

"Sam," Cas said, staggering back as Sam swayed forward. "Uhnf…Dean!"

Dean stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see Sam fall to his knees, taking Cas with him onto the tile.

"Jesus, Sammy, what's going on?" Dean helped disentangle the jumble of arms and legs before he pulled Cas to his feet first. "You okay, Cas?"

Cas nodded and together they propped Sam up between them. They led him to the living room, where they deposited him on the couch.

"Should I leave," Cas asked, brow furrowed.

"What? No!" Dean rubbed a hand across his mouth, more than a little shook up. Sam _never_ got drunk. A side effect of the trauma of their childhood, when their dad would drink too much after their mother died. "No," he said again, and shook his head in emphasis. "But you can go make a pot of coffee, maybe?"

Dean sat beside his little brother on the couch after Cas left the room. He patted Sam's face until the other man roused, blinking rapidly.

"Deano," Sam grinned sloppily. "I'm drunk, Deano."

"Yeah, I can see that." Dean pursed his lips. "What happened?"

"Jo." It was just one word, but it carried the weight of the world in it and Dean flinched. Surely nothing serious had happened. Sam and Jo were the most solid things in Dean's life. Their unwavering devotion and affection for each other were his touchstone. "What'd you do." It was a statement, not a question; Jo was a saint for putting up with the Winchester men. No way this wasn't Sammy's fault.

"I dinnt do nothin," Sam's lips worked around the words and he sat up straighter. He looked at Dean with sorrowful eyes. "She thinks I slept with that secretary, Lucy."

Dean frowned. "Is she high? Has she _seen _Lucy?" Lucy was sixty if she was a day and was quite taken with Pepto-Bismol pink leisure suits.

Sam chuckled and slapped one of his giant paws to Dean's shoulder. "That's what I said." Dean flinched under the impact. Sam didn't know his own strength. "Nah, Lucy is always at lunch when Jo comes, but she left me this voicemail…" Sam trailed off, eyelids drooping.

"Yeah, okay, so did you tell her she was nuts? Jo will believe you." Dean propped Sam up again when he started to slide down the couch cushions. "Sober, at least," he said under his breath.

"Nuh uh," Sam mumbled. "She took my car keys and said _go to your brother's, Sam, he's gay and he STILL knows more about women than you."_

"I'm not gay," Dean said automatically, but Sam just laughed, until Dean scowled and punched him in the shoulder.

"Dean?" Cas stood in the living room door, two coffee mugs in hand.

Dean waved him over, face heating. He wondered how much Cas had overheard. "Cas, my brother is having a lover's spat. I say this calls for the time-honored Winchester tradition of the Chewbacca Drinking Game."

Cas' face relaxed as he set the mugs on the coffee table. "The what, now?"

Sam sat up straighter, having controlled his fit of giggles. "Cas," he chided. "You mean Dean hasn't gotten you drunk on Chewie and Han Solo yet?" Sam's eyebrows waggled and Dean blushed a deeper red.

"No, Sam," Cas chuckled. "I'm sad to say I haven't had the pleasure." His gaze slid sideways, and Dean felt the temperature in the room jump ten degrees when their eyes met and held.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, all right then. Sammy, you sit tight and I'll load the DVD. Cas, you grab the tequila."

The rules of the game were fluid, as most drinking games are. What started out as a chorus of 'Drink!' whenever Chewbacca, Han, and Leia were onscreen _at the same time_, rapidly dissolved into drinking whenever _any_ character was onscreen with a weapon. Or said words.

Before the Empire Strikes Back was half over, Dean found himself sprawled across the floor, head resting on Cas' thigh. All of his extremities tingled and burned pleasantly, and warmth pooled in his midsection, expanding exponentially every time Cas shifted beneath him. Sam was still ensconced on the couch, his too-long legs and arms dragging the floor.

"I love Jo," Sam mumbled into the cushion as Han and Leia professed their love for each other onscreen.

"You're a sap," Dean chuckled. His head was fuzzy from the tequila, and from the strong muscle that flexed under his neck. Cas' hand rested on his chest, holding a half-full shot glass, and Dean idly wondered what would happen if he leaned up and put his lips on the pulsepoint he could see jumping in Cas' wrist.

"No, I'm serious," Sam continued. He propped his face on a fist. "I love Jo more than you, Dean."

Dean snorted. "Uh huh, sure Sammy. Whatever you say."

Sam threw a pillow at Dean, but since Cas was between the two, he became the unintended target. "Hey, I'm not involved in this."

"Sorry, Cas. Cas," Sam warmed up to his declaration. "Cas, you were engaged to Daphne, you know what I'm talking about, right?"

The name jarred Dean from his stupor. He felt as though he'd been sucker punched. "Daphne," he repeated wanly, then waited, hoping Sam or Cas would say, _What are you talking about, Dean,_ that he had had some sort of mini blackout. Or an aneurysm.

But Cas didn't say anything, just threw back the contents of his glass in one swallow. He didn't return his wrist to Dean's chest and Dean could feel him move uneasily.

From this vantage point, Dean couldn't see his eyes, and he willed Cas to meet his gaze. Cas had this way of looking at him, warming him from the inside out, heating Dean's blood with a flutter of dark lashes against fair skin, and Dean suddenly craved it, fiercely.

And since when did Cas and Sam have heart to hearts or share relationship stories, anyway?

"Daphne was Cas' fiancé, right Cas," Sam provided, unaware of the sudden tension in the room. He mumbled Jo's name again, before his head dropped to the couch and he began to snore.

"He's out," Cas said softly. Dean felt his thigh tense again, as if he were going to push Dean off. "I should probably get going."

"Like hell you are," Dean said, and rolled to a sitting position. He had to throw down a hand to steady himself when the room spun with a dizzying tilt. They staggered unsteadily to their feet and he grabbed Cas' arm. "You're staying with me."

Dean's head was foggy from tequila and the sudden movement, but he recognized his words were more forceful than he intended and he gentled his grip. He started to apologize, but then Cas leaned forward at the exact moment Dean did and they found themselves caught in a semi-embrace, hands stilled on arms, on hips. Dean's eyes fell to Cas' mouth and he licked his lips.

"I—" he started to say, but Cas cut him off, closing the distance. Cool, dry lips brushed against Dean's, once, twice. Then Cas hesitated, hovering, and Dean shivered when their breaths mingled in the inch of air that separated them.

Luke and Vader dueled above Cloud City now, the zing of their light sabers matching the thrum-thrum of Dean's heart.

And here's the thing: Dean meant to follow Cas' lead, take it slow and easy. But the road guiding them to this moment had been too long, too damn frustrating, too filled with delicious moments of _almost there,_ and Dean's head swam with all of the brief touches and half smiles and soft laughs. He cracked, resolve crumbling, as he pressed into Cas, mouth hungry for more, more. And Cas was right there, kissing him back, all breathless sighs and parted lips and teasing tip of tongue.

He carded his fingers through Cas' hair, holding him in place so he could lick his way into his mouth, swallowing Cas' answering moan. The sound sent sparks of white-hot desire straight to his cock and he shifted, needing to be closer.

Cas responded by grabbing the belt loops of Dean's jeans and pulling their hips flush. The rough friction of denim was brutally hot, and Dean thought he might have whimpered, but he couldn't be sure because Cas was devouring him, dipping in and around the recesses of his mouth, stroking his tongue and sucking it into submission.

It was, simply put, the hottest kiss of Dean Winchester's life.

"_Fuck. _Why haven't we been doing this the whole time," he breathed when they broke apart.

Cas huffed a laugh, moist heat caressing Dean's cheek. "I was waiting for you to get with the program," he growled the words against Dean's ear, and Dean shuddered.

"Oh, I'm with the program, I'm fucking _headlining_ the program now."

Cas' mouth found his again, teeth tugging on his bottom lip, strong hands holding Dean in place. As if he would go anywhere. As if he _could_. Heat, open-mouthed and wet, trailed across Dean's jaw, dropping to suck gently on a sensitive spot low on his neck, hitting every one of his buttons on the way.

Dean was drunk, flying, not on the alcohol, but on _Cas, _male and spicy and warm, the sweet smell of spring lingering on Cas' skin from his freshly laundered shirt. It was heady and intoxicating and Dean wondered if they were ever going to get out of bed once they finally tumbled in.

He could think of worse ways to go.

"Dean," Cas whispered, hands stroking down Dean's chest. "Dean, wait." But his words were at war with his fingers as they smoothed the bare skin under the hem of Dean's t-shirt. Dean captured that full mouth with his, silencing him with tongue and lips and hands, unable to get close enough. He wanted to crawl inside of him.

Cas murmured against his mouth, "Dean, wait. Not like this."

Dean hummed against Cas' jaw_, _dragging over-stimulated lips across the sandpaper of his skin. "Not like what," he asked, not listening, not really.

He stumbled back when Cas shoved, hard. "What the hell, Cas," he rasped, shaking his head to clear it. He watched Cas' chest heave in time with his own as they fought to catch their breath. A small sound behind him reminded Dean of Sam's presence on the couch.

"I should…" Cas started, but stopped when Dean raised a hand.

"You're staying." Dean's gruff tone broached no argument, and after a moment, Cas nodded.

They eyed one another warily. Cas' lips were reddened, color high in his cheeks, the saturated blue of his eyes almost painfully beautiful when he nodded again, exhaling a long breath.

Dean silenced the television with the remote, and used a blanket from the back of the couch to cover Sam's slumbering form. He motioned for Cas to follow him down the hall. He knew the smart, sensible thing would be to open the guest bedroom door when they passed it, the way he normally did when Cas stayed too late to drive home. He didn't.

Cas paused in the doorway of Dean's darkened bedroom. "Dean," he said again, much calmer than Dean felt.

It pissed Dean off a little. His blood was still thrumming with _want_ and then there was Cas, as solemn and controlled as if he were about to deliver a boring-ass lecture to his undergrads. Dean ignored him and stripped off his t-shirt, dropped his jeans and kicked them forcefully into a corner, hoping Cas enjoyed the show as he climbed onto bed. He swallowed down the butterflies trying to beat a hole through his chest while he waited one unbearably long moment for Cas to decide what happened next.

Cas stepped across the threshold and Dean felt the band of anxiety around his midsection begin to ease.

Cas fumbled with the fastening on his jeans before freeing the top button from its anchoring buttonhole. They fell to the floor in a quiet rustle and he peeled his shirt over his head, much slower than necessary. _Fucker_, Dean thought. As paybacks go, this was one Dean was willing to gladly bear. His brain stuttered, jaw slack, at the portrait Cas' pale body made when he stepped into the moonlight. He blushed hard at the darkly sexy smirk Cas gave him when he leaned over him at the head of the bed. Dean reached up to smooth a palm down his side, then tugged him onto the sheets.

"Just sleep, Dean," Cas warned, but he pressed a kiss to Dean's lips, softening the admonition.

"Yeah, yeah, buzz kill." Dean grumbled, heat igniting between them at the briefest of touches.

"You'll thank me, tomorrow, when you're sober," Cas breathed against his temple.

Dean doubted that.

They negotiated the area on the mattress, with entirely too much empty bed between them, as far as Dean was concerned. He turned on his side to face Cas.

"Tomorrow, you tell me about Daphne," he said gruffly, alcohol and adrenaline taking its toll as his eyelids fluttered closed. He felt lips brush his forehead, his cheeks, and he smiled.

"Okay," Cas said, his breath ghosting across Dean's mouth. "There are things I haven't told you, Dean, things you probably won't like very much."

Dean blinked sleepily to find those striking eyes watching him, troubled. "Not possible," he said, voice husky.

Cas laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Good night, Dean."

"Night, Cas."

_..._


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note:_ _I should apologize for this short and smushy morning after chapter. But I can't. I want to squeeze it. Happy New Year everyone!_

...

The smell of bacon was the first thing Dean noticed when he woke the next morning. The next was the very Cas-shaped octopus wrapped around him in a bevy of arms and legs and crazy bed hair that tickled at his nose.

Dean didn't mind these things. In fact, he might have reveled in one or two of them. A bit.

But then it was dry, cottony, foul, post-drunk mouth, and the ice pick that had lodged itself in his right eye, and he considered, fleetingly, that he could possibly be on the verge of actual death. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the morning light streaming through the window.

OctoCas burrowed closer, face buried in Dean's neck "Shbbth."

Which Dean interpreted as 'good morning'. Or possibly 'shut up'. Or 'I have an ice pick in my eye too, please don't move again'. Still, he finally had Cas exactly where he wanted him, and Professor _Don't Touch Me or My Virtue on Our First Drunk_ was wrapped around Dean like a two-dollar whore. He smelled like stale Jack Daniels and, weirdly, cinnamon, a combination that was frankly making Dean's mouth water a little.

Or possibly that was the bacon.

Tentatively, Dean rolled to his side, keeping his head as motionless as possible to avoid excessive stabbing pain. Goddamn he hated being hungover. Dislodged from his neck, Cas plastered his face against Dean's chest, head below the sheet so that only mussed tufts of hair were visible. He muttered something against Dean's skin, probably shushing him again, but the effect was counterproductive; Dean's senses were barreling full speed ahead in the absence of the alcoholic fuzz and the miles of warm skin within easy reach.

He wedged one knee neatly between Cas' legs and was rewarded when Cas parted his thighs to allow Dean to scoot in closer. Dean dipped his hands below the sheet and grazed them down Cas' bare back, squeezing a hipbone, nudging against him gently. _Wakey, wakey_, he thought, grinning.

"Dean," Cas said, muffled under the covers, before biting him right on the pectoral.

"Ow," Dean hissed, digging fingers into Cas' hip and rocking his knee a little higher in retaliation.

Cas startled him by clawing the sheet from his head and scowling at Dean. "What are you doing."

Dean had to bite his lip to hold back a grin. Miffed, sleepy Cas was more than a little adorable. He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm not drunk anymore."

Cas' mouth twitched. "You're a slut, Dean Winchester." He flopped to his back then, dislodging both Dean's knee and his hands, much to Dean's disappointment.

"I hope you have ibuprofen," Cas said, swinging out of bed. "And coffee." He threw his arms high over his head and arched into a stretch that had Dean swallowing thickly. _Goddamn perfect man with his perfect goddamn back_, Dean thought.

Cas stood. _And hips._

Cas bent over to retrieve his jeans and shirt from the floor.

_And ass. _

Dean dragged the pillow over his face and groaned.

…

Dean found Cas a spare toothbrush (ignoring Cas' pointed look when he ruffled through a drawer full of packaged toothbrushes. And condoms). They negotiated room at the sink while they brushed their teeth, eyes meeting in the mirror, elbows brushing against warm sides and stomachs. Mouths rinsed, faces splashed with cool water, towel shared. Then Cas shoved him up against the tile wall and kissed him soundly, leaving Dean panting and half hard, chin tingling from the day-old stubble on Cas' jaw.

They followed the smell of breakfast to find Sam at the stove, humming an off-key rendition of _Stand by Your Man. _He smiled broadly when the two entered the kitchen. "Good morning, sunshines."

Cas scowled at Sam's perfect posture, clear eyes and sunny disposition. "What trickery is this?"

Dean snorted and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Sam doesn't get hungover." He pulled two mugs from a cabinet and filled both with coffee, then reached into the fridge for French vanilla creamer and poured a healthy dollop into one of the mugs. Sam quirked an eyebrow when he added several spoonfuls of sugar too, but Dean ignored him. He pushed the milky sweet drink toward Cas.

"Some bullshit about healthy living or chi or some Eastern crap he read in Men's Health." He smirked at Sam, who neatly flipped a fried egg over in the skillet with one hand and still managed to flip Dean off with the other. "I personally think he's just inhumanly tall. The liquor runs down into his feet or something and his heart doesn't have the energy to pump it all the way back to his brain."

"Ha Ha, Dean," Sam said dryly. "The clean living is the only part you got right." He winked at Cas. "Not that Dean would recognize clean living if it hit him between the eyes."

"Hey," Dean protested, but moved to sit at the table when Sam gestured with the overflowing skillet. Dean never refused instructions initiated with eggs and bacon. He smirked again when he realized Sam had set the table. Dean totally intended to make fun of him for that later.

Sam bent over the table at an odd angle, peering at Dean's neck.

"What," Dean grumbled, rubbing his neck, feeling for a stray fleck of toothpaste or something.

Sam's responding grin made him instantly suspicious and he glanced over at Cas, who was studying his plate with far too much intensity. Something about the way Cas' mouth lifted into the barest hint of a smile sparked a memory; lips hot and wet, on his throat, sucking a trail to his collarbone. He grabbed a spoon and used it for a mirror, pulling the neckline of his t-shirt aside. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he might be sporting a faint hickey low on his neck, near the juncture of his shoulder.

"Thought you weren't gay." Sam spooned two fried eggs onto Dean's plate, then scrambled onto Cas'.

"Fuck my life," Dean groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"You're a little bit gay." Cas said calmly, spreading butter on a triangle of toast.

Dean groaned again, but was drowned out by Sam's bark of laughter and the clank of utensils as his brother and Cas began to eat. Dean shoved thoughts of hickeys aside and picked up his fork. He would die before admitting it, but he was secretly pleased that Cas had essentially left his mark. It made him feel wanted and more than a little possessive, and _oh God,_ _he was totally turning into a girl_. But he held this spark of _whatever_ it was he had fallen into so easily with Cas, held it tight inside, mind boggling that someone like Cas wanted someone like Dean.

…


	7. Chapter 7

"Sam, do you want me to drop you off at home on my way?" Cas ignored Dean's grumbled '_sure, leave me on clean up duty'. _ Cas had a lecture on Monday's at ten, so Dean knew he couldn't complain too loudly. He had, however, made a point to corner Cas in the bedroom after breakfast, crowding him into the alcove behind the door and kissing him, open-mouthed and dirty, hip against hip in a slow roll until Cas was flushed and pliant.

Elbow-deep in suds, Dean smiled, remembering the breathy way Cas had whined his name when Dean had left him there against the wall. Dean shifted, his pants suddenly a little tighter.

"Sure," Sam said before grabbing Dean in a bearhug over the sink full of dishes. "Thanks, Dean." Sam gave Dean a sloppy kiss on the temple.

"Yeah, yeah. Go home and suck up to your wife. She's your best quality."

"Dean," Cas said from the doorway, and Dean turned, wondering if the way his heart thrilled whenever Cas said his name was evident on his face. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Hey," Sam sputtered.

Dean smiled and ducked his head, cursing the telltale blush he could feel blooming in his cheeks, knowing Cas wasn't talking about the food. He cleared his throat. "Don't mention it."

After they were gone, Dean puttered around the quiet house. He picked up the empties from the living room. He vacuumed. He started a load of laundry.

He watched an episode of the X-Files.

"Fuck it," Dean muttered to the empty room. Technically he figured it was close enough to lunchtime that he could drive out to the dig site and coerce Cas to make out with him in the big tent. Or grab a burger. Or both.

But probably just the burger.

Dean slid into his baby, breathing in deep, relishing the scent of old leather and the polish he used to keep the dashboard shining and conditioned. When he turned the key, the engine rolled over in a throaty purr that made him smile in contentment; God he loved this car. He pushed a faded tape into the deck (screw Sammy and his constant nagging about CD changers and MP3 jacks) and turned up the volume. Then he pulled onto the highway and drove.

Dean took back roads to the dig and relished the freedom the flat, open two-lane gave him. There had been plenty of times in his existence that Dean had wondered if he had somehow been a gypsy in a former life, or at least the far removed descendent of one. The road beckoned him, an endless ribbon of asphalt that called, a siren's song, luring him with the promise of new places, new experiences, _different._ And he had indulged; Dean had spent the majority of his twenties spirited away time and again by the whim of some inner desire to rove.

And now, well now sometimes Dean felt like he might be suffocating, stagnating in this small town, where everyone knew him, had known his parents before him. Where he was expected to embody a persona, to live up to a preconceived idea of _Dean Winchester_, that everyone in this town had conjured long before Dean himself had known who or what he truly was.

Hell, sometimes Dean still didn't know who or what he truly was. With one maddeningly easy exception.

Castiel.

Dean recognized he had no reservations about Cas, that he was hopelessly, selfishly greedy to have as much of him, as often as possible. It was new, this heady, constant flutter of his heart whenever Cas entered a room. Dean's pulse had developed the habit of stuttering erratically when a corner of Cas' mouth lifted in amusement, so Dean had increased his teasing incrementally, hungry for the full smiles and belly laughs that were such a rarity, but not so rare as before. Dean was worming his way beneath Cas' defenses, getting under his skin, the same way Cas had gotten under his own, and Dean was glad of it.

Dean laughed into the empty car, wind whistling across the leather seats, vintage Bon Jovi blaring from the speakers. It had only been three hours and here he was, driving across the bright Kansas countryside _on his day off,_ because he missed Cas. Dean realized, somewhat belatedly seeing as he was mere minutes from the site, that it was entirely possible Cas didn't feel the same disquiet when they were apart, as if Dean were on pause, impatient until Cas appeared and his heart beat sure, its purpose clear and plain again.

After last night, though, Dean was willing to take a chance.

But where did they go from here, he and Cas, Dean wondered. Should they casually appear together in public? Did they go on dates? Does Dean mention to the guys he meets for pickup basketball twice a month over at the Y that '_oh, by the way, I like dick'_? Dean wasn't at all sure how this was supposed to work, dating another man. Was it just like dating a woman? Would people stare? Would they make snide comments, under their breath but where Dean could hear and be forced to swallow his temper?

Would it affect business at the bar? Or Sam and Jo?

Dean succeeded, in the last five miles, in knotting his stomach up with anxiety and insecurity. His desire to see Cas spiked, needing the warm spark that flowed between them whenever they occupied the same space, a thread of common yearning and affection. He needed Cas to read his bullshit worries, written as they were all over Dean's face, and to tell him it would be okay, that he was overreacting, because he was. Dean knew that he was. But he could taste the fear in his throat, and the fact that he was afraid lets him know that this, this thing, it was big, important. That _Cas_ was important.

Possibly the last important thing Dean will ever choose for himself.

…

Cas was not among the workers crouched in the dirt or lying stretched out in the shade, drinking from water bottles and eating foil wrapped sandwiches. They waved at Dean as he passed, friendly and accustomed to Dean's frequent appearances. He was greeted warmly, called to by name several times, like he belonged here and it was nice; it went a long way toward settling his nerves.

A blonde on her belly in the grass looked up, shielding her eyes from the bright noonday sun when he paused beside her, eyes scanning the landscape for a familiar figure.

"He's over the hill," she waved a gloved hand, small spade pointing east. "We found a small burial mound."

Dean could hear the excitement in her tone, but he was already moving away, toward the hill, and he could _feel _him, which was weird, but true. The minute he started moving in the right direction, his internal compass spun into position and Dean's whole body pulsed with each step. _Cas. Cas. Cas._

Cas hadn't been expecting him, happy surprise evident on his handsome face. Dean stepped right into his personal bubble, ignoring for the moment that a grad student sat at their feet, scraping patiently at the sod.

"You should be sleeping," Cas murmured, tipping his head close to Dean's.

Dean shrugged. "Nah, I got bored." He knew he wore a stupid, sappy grin, but found he couldn't care. He took a moment to appreciate the cleanly shaven jaw, pale, starched collar in high contrast against the smooth, tanned skin. "Want to grab some lunch?"

Cas looked conflicted and bit his lip. "I just got here, I should really check on everyone's progress."

Dean swallowed down the twinge of disappointment. It was novel, wanting someone this much. The closest he could remember ever coming to this was a girl in high school. He had been sixteen and her name was Melody. She had dumped Dean for a football player after two measly weeks, but it had been as blissful a two weeks as a pair of inexperienced sixteen year olds could manage.

Dean's need for Cas was comparable, but exponentially hotter; explosive and consuming and erratic. For example, at present he was fast becoming addicted to the way the sun threw Cas' lashes into dark shadows across his cheekbones. He released a long breath, glad Cas wasn't touching him, couldn't feel Dean's pulse skipping from his proximity.

"I can dig in the dirt a while."

Cas snorted. "I'm sure Susan would appreciate the help," for the first time indicating the student seated at their feet.

Susan grinned up at them. "Sure thing, Dr. Novak. Dean, grab a trowel, buddy."

And so Dean found a comfortable position in the neatly troweled square of bare earth, and he absolutely did not watch Cas walk over the hill to the main site, or appreciate the fit of his trousers, or smile at the quiet kindness and authority in Cas' voice as he spoke with the students under his charge. No, Dean didn't notice any of those things. Which is why Susan had to wave her hand a multitude of times, calling his name, before Dean blinked, perplexed, then realized he had unearthed something in the dirt.

He would have missed it, without her keen eye, potentially ruining the delicate piece of pottery as he blithely chipped away, confusing it with hardened dirt. To his untrained eye, it looked like no more than a rock at first, brown and hard, but Susan's enthusiasm caught hold and he took the brush she handed him and began to gently whisk the soil particles away, following her instructions. He tried, once, to pass her the brush, not wanting to inadvertently damage it, but she laughed, refusing. She seemed to _want_ Dean to do this, to take part in this archaeological foray into the distant past of a people long forgotten. She was, Dean realized, as he unearthed a small, intact vessel, offering him a piece of _Cas_.

…

Dean waited in the main tent, where artifacts were carefully examined, stored and catalogued before being packed and shipped back to the university. He sat on a bench, turning his find over and over in his hand, comparing it to a large table covered in pottery shards and bits of bone. In contrast, his small vase or urn was remarkable in its intactness. He mused the irony of what Susan labeled 'a rarity' being unearthed by a bar fly like himself.

A pair of legs straddled the bench and Dean started, glancing up to find Cas smiling down at him.

"Professor." He dropped the pitch of his voice, liking the way Cas' lips parted when he sucked in a breath.

Cas lowered himself onto the bench facing Dean, startling a laugh out of him when he positioned himself unceremoniously in Dean's lap. Dean's hands came to rest on Cas' hips, and he pulled him close, rubbing them together in all the right ways.

Cas dropped his head to tongue at Dean's throat, while his hands inched Dean's t-shirt hem up, palming his flat stomach. Dean rubbed his jaw against Cas' temple, feeling the smooth muscle of Cas' back flex under his fingers, hungering for skin on skin. He reached one hand blindly behind himself to set the vase on the bench a safe distance away. Even fuzzed with lust, Dean could see how dropping Cas' new relic might kill the mood. And Dean still hadn't had that burger; the least he could get was the nooner, and the chances of that were most definitely looking up.

Suddenly, Cas grabbed Dean's hand, pulling the artifact from his grasp and leaning back to inspect it. He turned on the bench, feet on the floor, arcing out of Dean's attempt to pull him back into his previous position. "Cas," Dean whined.

"Dean." Cas' breathing was labored and Dean felt a flicker of pride. "Dean, is this what you uncovered? Do you know what this is?" He moved again, one measly foot outside of Dean's grasp.

Dean groaned. "The oldest cockblock ever discovered?" He succeeded in grabbing a piece of Cas' shirt, smirking when a corner untucked from the too-fancy trousers. Cas was only wearing them to torture him, Dean was sure of it. He had made the mistake of admiring Cas' "professor clothes" once too often, so Cas had taken to wearing them all the fucking time. Dean tugged harder, sighing in satisfaction when the tail flapped free and he could run his hand under it to smooth against Cas' warm back.

Cas leaned into the touch, in direct opposition to the eyeroll he threw Dean's way. "No, smartass." But his words were cut off when Dean yanked once more, toppling Cas into his lap again, catching his lips in a hot, wet kiss.

Dean finagled the artifact from Cas' hands and set it on the floor.

"Dean," Cas admonished, but it ended on a sigh because Dean was tonguing the hollow of his throat, sucking a dark pink mark into his neck.

"No," Dean said gruffly, dragging his lips across the smooth column of skin beneath the starched collar. "I'm hungry and horny and you're going to sit here and you're going to like it."

Cas grabbed Dean's face in his hands and held it still. "Here, I'm in charge." The words were deep, authoritative, and Dean thrilled at the hard glitter in Cas' eyes. But then Cas' lips were on his and his tongue was doing that thing that made Dean _crazy_, and Dean was content to moan and wiggle on the bench like a horny teenager, hands pushing under Cas' shirt, everywhere, and nowhere, frustrating and hot and mind-blowingly perfect.

They forgot all about artifacts and burgers until voices approached the tent, youthful laughter rousing them, reluctantly, from each other. Cas stood, raking fingers through his mussed hair, tucking in his shirt, and Dean admired the high flush in Cas' cheeks, lips kissed raw. Cas picked up the small vase from the floor and carried it carefully to the worktable, smiling at the students who ducked under the flap, serene and composed (_asshole_, Dean thought, unable to form a more pithy insult due to his brain's current state of mush). The students crowded the table, anxious to see what Dean had found, word having quickly spread.

Dean listened to them speculate on the vase's origin and age, and more than one gave Dean a newly assessing look, which Dean ignored, content to watch Cas' patient interactions with them. Cas assigned a few of the most eager to investigate the burial mound further, Dean's find having invigorated the lot.

Dean stood as they began to file out of the tent, realizing Cas was going to be tied up for the rest of the day, in his element and most definitely unavailable for food or impromptu makeout sessions.

"Dean," Cas held the flap up, sunlight streaming across his face in a wedge of pale gold. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

As invitations go, it was formal and polite, and delivered in that gravely baritone it set a dozen butterflies free in Dean's stomach. It was most certainly a _date_, and Dean was happy to discover the answer to one of his anxious uncertainties from earlier. He crossed the tent in three strides to press close to Cas' body heat, relishing a brief whiff of cologne as he lowered his mouth. The kiss was slow, unhurried, tongues teasing in a dance that held the promise of more.

"Is that a yes," Cas asked, hoarse, one hand fisting against Dean's waist.

"Yes." Dean stole another quick kiss, a soft press of lips together, then ducked under the tent opening. Whistling as he made his way back to the impala, Dean's stomach growled and he decided he would drive into town and see if Sammy had eaten yet.

This was rapidly turning into an almost perfect day.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean took more care getting ready than normal, trying to tamp down a nervousness that was making his palms sweat. He used the cologne he knew Cas liked, giving attention to the area behind his ear, in the hollow where Cas liked to bare his teeth, then another spray low, across his abdomen, just above the edge of the towel. He grinned at his reflection. Dean had plans for the gorgeous professor tonight, and he was going in locked and loaded.

He knew Cas was taking him into Kansas City, but that was the extent of the information he gave Dean about the evening's plans. _Dress nice, we're going into the city_, was the solitary text Dean had received all afternoon.

Dean wondered if you could die from anticipation.

…

Cas looked edible. Dean suffered a moment of utter blankness when he opened his front door to find six feet of darkly sexy Cas, dressed in black trousers and a blue shirt that, (_fuck me, _Dean thought)_, _exactlymatched the shade of Cas' eyes. Dean was tongue-tied, face slack, so Cas took control of the situation and pushed him against the door, kissing him until he was breathless in lieu of a greeting, then nosed at the soft skin below Dean's ear.

"Mmm. You smell good."

Dean grinned and followed Cas to the car.

They drove into the city, and Dean's anxiety evolved into a stirring hum of awareness over the course of the ninety-minute drive. Each sidelong look, or white flash of teeth, set Dean on edge a little more, until he wondered how the _hell_ he was supposed to make it through an hour or longer in a restaurant seated across from the extremely fuckable Professor Novak. Even now, Cas' calm attempt at drawing Dean out with easy conversation was enveloping Dean with a near uncontrollable need to rip that goddamn blue shirt off of him and get his hands on what lay underneath.

Cas may have been attempting to speak low and soothing, but the rough pitch did things to Dean's insides, and the dark, intimate interior of the car was enhancing the effect tenfold. And if Cas looked at him from under those too-long dark lashes _one more time…_

Dean needed a drink.

Dean perked up when Cas steered a course into the Power and Light district of KC. Maybe he had been reading Dean's mind and was going to get him drunk on fancy cocktails and seduce him. Dean bit his lip to rein in the ridiculous smile that _that _little spur of the moment fantasy heralded, after Cas glanced at him questioningly. Cas parked in a half-empty lot off Main, behind a wide expanse of painted brick exteriors, the back half of the restaurants and bars on 14th street.

Dean got out of the car and followed Cas to the rear entrance of what appeared to be a kitchen, judging by the sounds emitted when Cas pulled open the heavy steel door.

"Wait here." Cas walked right into the throng of bustling movement. Dean leaned against the doorframe, watching as Cas maneuvered the busy kitchen to grab a man, shouting orders and slinging a ladle about excitedly, in a quick hug. The shorter man laughed, patting Cas hard on the back. Minutes later, the two approached Dean, carrying two bags and a long baguette wrapped in foil.

"So this is the infamous Dean Winchester," the man said, offering his hand. "Gabriel Novak, Cas' big brother."

Dean shook the proffered hand, risking a glance at Cas, who remained silent throughout the exchange. "Nice to meet you."

"So, I hear we're in the same business." Gabriel dropped Dean's hand but Dean could feel his scrutiny as the man's dark eyes studied his face.

"Uh, not really," Dean chuckled, nervously. "I'm just a bartender."

"And the chef, and the handyman, and the owner." Cas smiled at him fondly, holding up the bags. "You ready?"

Dean didn't have a chance to protest Cas' claims before the shorter, older, bossier Novak shoved him out of the door. "You kids have fun," he called, and there was something about his tone that grated on Dean's nerves. It might have been the way he slapped Dean's ass before slamming the door shut behind them.

Dean eyed the bags, the jaunty logo visible in the lights of the parking lot.

"The _Kill Devil Club_," he asked, eyebrows raised. He didn't know whether he should emphasize _kill_ or _devil_ more. And something about Cas' brother… suited the establishment's name. He just wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

Cas chuckled, stowing the bags in the back floorboards on the passenger side. "My brother makes a Kobe burger that will make you cry." He winked and Dean's heart flipped over. Damn, he was beautiful.

Dean was buckling his seatbelt as Cas jogged around the front bumper to climb into the driver's side when a voice called out from the dark. "Cas, is that you?"

Cas slid to a stop, turning slowly.

Dean watched as a tall blonde emerged from the shadows. In the light from the streetlamp, Dean could see that he was dressed for dinner, long wool trenchcoat over a dark suit, leather gloves held loosely in one hand where he'd just removed them. The man strode up to Cas, a smile lighting his handsome face. He didn't pause to shake Cas' hand as Dean expected, but rather pulled Cas into a quick embrace.

Which Cas seemed to return, hands at the man's elbows.

Dean's stomach clenched in a spurt of jealousy, a bitter sting that caught and held when Cas didn't immediately step back. And then expanded, when Dean could see the man smiling, studying Cas' lips.

Dean unlatched his seatbelt, feeling it time he let his presence be known.

But then Cas _was_ stepping back, hands falling to his sides, so Dean waited, wanting to see how this would play out. There was something about the encounter that bothered him, an irritating prickle of awareness. The man was too familiar with Cas.

Dean watched as he followed Cas to the car door, one hand grazing along Cas' spine, resting there as Cas tugged feebly at the door handle. Dean couldn't make out their words, their voices a low murmur.

Dean ground his teeth together. Now he _knew_ there was something, something Cas had as yet failed to mention. Something that had everything to do with the way Dean's stomach was falling into the soles of his feet like a rock, extinguishing the excitement he'd allowed himself to enjoy, a rarity, because things so infrequently went well for Dean. Not in his experience.

Dean remembered Cas' words from the night before, '_There are things I haven't told you, Dean_.'

He realized he had missed the end of the exchange when Cas opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, smiling over at him. If Dean hadn't been looking so closely, he might have missed it. But he could clearly see the new lines of tension around Cas' eyes, and the way his smile no longer reached them.

"Who was that?" Shit. Dean had meant to be more subtle.

Cas just sighed, turning the key in the ignition. "An old friend," he said quietly, fiddling with the visor. He smiled at Dean again, this time more genuine, soft. "Are you hungry?"

Dean wanted to say yes. He wanted to go back ten minutes in time and hang around on the doorstep of Gabriel's kitchen for another forty-five seconds and _miss_ seeing some stranger fondle Cas' ass. He wanted Cas' face to be open and excited and expectant and nervous again; not resigned and maybe a little bit sad. And because he wanted all of those things to come from a place of honesty and truth, Dean asked, instead, "Who was that, Cas?"

Cas reached slowly for the ignition again, turning it off. They sat in silence under the lamplight.

Dean spent the time waiting for Cas to speak, indulging in his favorite pastime of late: cataloguing the way the unique plane of Cas' nose and cheekbones gave a masculine edge to an otherwise unequivocally pretty face. His stomach clenched again and he wondered briefly if he was going to be sick.

"His name is Balthazar. We were…together, before I came to Lawrence."

_Together. _The word sucked the air from the car, and Dean froze. He had been mistaken; he was not ready for this. He didn't know where to look, at Cas, or out of the window; at his fists, clenched in his lap, or straight ahead. His mouth worked as Cas' words tumbled over and over in his head, fighting for dominance. "I thought you were engaged." It was a stupid thing to say.

Cas snorted, but it was not a sound associated with laughter. "Yes, but I never made it to the altar." He looked sharply at Dean, eyes as cold as blue glass, slicing through him. "Daphne, my fiancé, left for our honeymoon, alone, the night she tried to surprise me and caught me in bed with Balthazar."

Dean's chest burned, on fire, and he realized he wasn't breathing. He inhaled sharply, greedy for air, and rubbed a hand across his mouth. "Jesus, Cas," he whispered.

Cas laughed, an ugly sound. "Not pretty, is it?" He turned the key and the engine roared to life again. "I told you there were things you wouldn't like."

He moved to put the car into drive but Dean stopped him, covering his hand over the gearshift. Cas' fingers were like ice beneath his, as if the blood had stopped pumping to his extremities. Dean unhooked his seatbelt and moved across the seat in one long, smooth slide until he was pressed against the warmth of Cas' side, lips grazing his jaw. "Actually, I like you just fine."

Cas' breath hitched in his throat and he turned his face to meet Dean's lips at the last possible second.

The kiss was sweet, and brief, a soft, quiet linger of mouths. Dean tightened his hand around Cas' fingers, warming them, brushing his thumb over Cas' pulse point before returning to his seat and reattaching the seatbelt.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean held his breath. It was true, he wanted to know everything about Cas, including _Balthazar _(the name alone made Dean wince) but not tonight. Tonight was for them, and he selfishly hoped Cas felt the same.

"Not yet, if that's all right with you." Cas searched Dean's face in the dim interior and seemed to relax when he realized Dean was still there, still with him.

"So, where are we eating?" Dean deftly changed the subject. _Who needs a DeLorean,_ he thought, as he effectively moved them five minutes into the past. There would be time enough later to dissect painful things, or people, and Dean was content to push it aside for now.

Cas exhaled in one long, slow breath and Dean could feel those intense eyes on his face, caressing his skin. "How about my place?" Cas' voice was so low it did interesting things to Dean's pulse rate.

Dean swallowed with a click.

Cas pushed the car into drive.

…

When Cas drove further into downtown rather than make the turn for the interstate, Dean glanced over at him, suspicious. "Where are we going?"

"I keep an apartment here in the city." Cas' smile mighthave been a little bit predatory and Dean squirmed, studying his handsome profile in the dark. God, he _really_ hoped you couldn't die from anticipation.

Cas' apartment was only a few blocks from the restaurant, much to Dean's relief. Dean tried, mostly in vain, not to gape awkwardly when Cas led him up to the penthouse of a gorgeous World War I era building in the heart of downtown.

It was at this point in the evening that Dean realized there might be more to Cas that met the eye. At least monetarily.

The open floor plan felt even more expansive with colossally high ceilings and a wide wall of windows that offered a panoramic view of downtown. Tonight, the city lay before them, sparkling like a sky full of stars.

"Wow," Dean breathed, walking to the windows and peering out.

One side of the living space featured a large sectional sofa and two oversized chairs, all upholstered in a deep, dark red leather that formed a nice contrast to the dark brick of the exterior walls and the fireplace. Opposite, there was a desk and library, with floor to ceiling bookcases lining the wall, an old fashioned rolling ladder attached to an iron bar at the top granting access to the uppermost shelves. Tucked into a corner next to the windows, was a gleaming black baby grand piano, and Dean's heart spiked in tempo, remembering the muted strains of Beethoven, and Cas' long, slender hands tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

Cas set the food on the black granite countertops and pulled two plates from a cabinet, filling each from the contents of the bags. He also grabbed two beers from the fridge and Dean raised his eyebrows in question when he handed him one; Cas hadn't been out of Lawrence in the past several weeks, as far as Dean was aware, yet this was Dean's favorite beer.

Cas ducked his head, studying the label on the bottle in his hand. "I had a service drop off some groceries last week."

Dean crowded into Cas' space, giving himself permission to muss Cas up, because he was too damn adorable standing there, embarrassed to admit that he had planned to bring Dean here, days before he could possibly know that Dean's resolve would finally cave and he would cross the line of friendship late one night in a blur of tequila and DVDs. He had phoned ahead to ensure Dean's favorite beer was stocked in the refrigerator, not knowing whether Dean would say yes, and Dean's chest was too tight with things he didn't know how to say. So instead, Dean kissed him slowly. "Thank you."

They ate burgers and bits of cheese at the wide kitchen table, eyes meeting over their plates while they made small talk. Dean didn't quite know how to reconcile this Cas, the penthouse version of him, sexy and sophisticated and _different_. It suited him in a way Dean discovered he wasn't entirely surprised to find, but Dean still preferred the absent-minded professor, lying in a dirty square of earth, infinitely patient as he used a toothbrush to comb away centuries of time to unveil a tiny shard of bone.

Dean didn't cry, but it _was_ a fine burger. He might have qualified it as one of the best he had ever eaten, in fact, if he had been able to pay much attention to it. He had been too busy watching Cas, enjoying the high flush in his cheekbones, and the way his eyes fell to Dean's mouth whenever Dean spoke. It augmented the potent hum of electricity that buzzed between them, making Dean restless and jittery.

After they had eaten and transferred their plates to the dishwasher, Dean nodded to the piano. "Play something for me?"

Cas bit his lip. "You know I'm rusty, I told you that."

Dean shook his head. "Uh huh. Sure you are, Professor. Go on with you." He gave Cas' back a nudge, hand too low to be decent, but Dean was fast approaching his limit of decency when it came to Cas. At least if he was playing, Dean wouldn't be ripping his clothes off, and frankly, Dean wasn't sure he was prepared yet for the inferno he could feel threatening to erupt with each lingering glance.

Cas flexed his fingers, sitting on the glossy bench, and when he began to play, the sad, melancholy strains of _Moonlight Sonata_ filled the apartment. Dean smiled. Cas remembered too.

Dean made himself comfortable in one of the deep leather chairs, watching those beautiful hands glide over the ivories, but the way Cas' back and shoulders flexed under the blue shirt shortly drove him back to his feet. He approached slowly, careful not to interrupt, until he stood directly behind the bench. He placed a palm lightly at the center of Cas' back, and Cas stiffened but continued to play.

Encouraged, Dean's hand began to move, trailing up to Cas' neck, where he gently pulled the collar aside, just enough so he could drop his lips to the warm skin. Cas' fingers wavered then, missing a key. Dean reached around to unbutton the top two buttons of Cas' shirt, pushing the collar lower to free more of his neck to his exploration. He could hear the hitch of Cas' breath. He worked his way to an earlobe, sucking it between his teeth, and smiled when a note hung in the air a beat too long.

Dean dragged his lips along the handsome jaw, feeling it clench in response, until his control slipped and he gripped Cas' chin, tipping it up so he could slot their mouths together. The last chord hung in the air, flat.

Cas swung off the bench and stood, grabbing Dean by the hips and pulling them tightly together, sealing Dean's mouth to his in a blistering kiss.

_So hot, _was Dean's only coherent thought as his fists twisted the silky fabric under his hands. Cas angled his head to the left, delving deeper into his mouth, and Dean's fingers faltered when he tried to undo another button.

_Goddamn slippery dress shirt anyway, _he thought. He gave up and ripped the shirt open, buttons pinging on the hardwood floor when they fell.

"Dean," Cas chastised, but it ended on a low-pitched whine when Dean's teeth latched onto a patch of newly exposed skin.

"Bed," Dean growled into his mouth.

Cas pushed him backward, both of them gasping for air when they broke apart. Dean's hands scrambled for purchase, any distance between them suddenly too great, and he sighed when his lips found Cas' again. He relished the freedom of access the partially open shirt provided, fingers digging into the tight V of muscle above Cas' hipbones, closing his eyes and trusting Cas to navigate the narrow hall to the bedroom. When the back of his legs hit the bed, he fell back, taking Cas with him.

Dean rolled them, sitting up to unbutton his shirt, and the picture Cas made, lying between his legs, took his breath away. His lips were reddened, pupils blown, and Dean could see the evidence of his arousal through the fine fabric of his trousers. He still wore the dress shirt, and Dean had a sudden desire to leave it, splayed open and inviting, yet reminding him of the staid, proper professional he knew lurked so close to the surface.

He groaned when Cas reached one hand up to palm him, caressing the bulge straining against his jeans.

"Dean," Cas commanded, low and gruff.

Dean fumbled with his cuffs, wrenching the shirt off in a frenzy, scraping a knuckle raw in his haste. "Yes, Professor," he asked, voice throaty and deep, eager to press his mouth to all the bare skin he could reach.

Cas' hands ran greedily over his chest, fingernails raking around to his back, and then down low across his flat stomach. He unbuckled Dean's belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them off of his hips. Dean scraped the garment free of his legs, kicking it aside, and chuckled darkly at Cas' moan of frustration when Dean resisted his attempts to pull him flush. He rather liked Cas needy and panting beneath him; he could get used to this.

Cas retaliated by dipping one finger below the elastic of Dean's boxers, teasing the sensitive skin there and his cock twitched in anticipation. He ducked his head, arms straining, to flick his tongue across Cas' bottom lip. Cas followed when he retreated, capturing Dean's mouth again as he yanked his boxers unceremoniously to his knees. When Dean finally lowered his naked body to Cas' mostly clothed one, he sighed. The friction of fabric against his oversensitive skin was pure bliss.

Cas nudged one trouser-clad knee between his legs and Dean's eyes rolled back in his head at the gentle pressure, but it wasn't enough. He fumbled with Cas' button and zipper, craving skin on skin, hands clumsy and impatient. He tugged fruitlessly at the remaining buttons on the dress shirt until Cas, laughing softly, reversed their positions and straddled Dean's naked hips. Dean lay back and enjoyed the view as Cas undressed above him, those long fingers taking their sweet time as they finished with the cuffs. Then the shirt was sliding free of his shoulders, pooling at his waist, and Dean dragged it away, sitting up to press their chests together.

He hissed at the first touch of skin on skin. _Dear God, _he may never let Cas get dressed again. Pubs, archaeology digs, fuck them all. Someone else could dust off the old bones and serve tequila to bridesmaids; Cas was getting chained to Dean's bed.

Cas shoved him back into the mattress and Dean snickered at the quick work Cas made of his pants, but then he was naked on top of him and Dean's brain short circuited. Their bodies aligned in a perfect symmetry that Dean had never known before, and he gritted his teeth at the unbelievably hot sensation of cock on cock. Cas' hips undulated, sliding them together slowly, showing Dean what felt good, learning which movements drew the strongest gasps. He caught Dean's lips in a gentle kiss.

Dean's breath stuttered, overwhelmed, and he stilled.

"What," Cas whispered, lips ghosting over his eyelids, his cheeks. "What is it?"

Dean hid his face in Cas' neck, breathing deep. "I've never done this before," he mumbled against the hot skin there. His tongue darted out to taste a bead of sweat.

"You mean to tell me," Cas arched his neck to grant Dean more access, breath catching. "That Dean_ drawer full of condoms_ Winchester is a virgin," he managed to tease before inhaling sharply when Dean bit his throat.

Dean huffed a laugh, kissing the bite mark gently. "No, _this," _he said insistently, rolling his hips gently, nosing at the shell of Cas' ear, still hiding. "This is different."

"Mmm," Cas hummed as he rocked against him, nudging Dean's chin so he could see his face. "Okay, if not sex then what do you mean? I, uh," he actually blushed, faltering, and Dean's heart constricted. God, he was gorgeous.

Cas blinked slowly and stilled. "I guess you've never been with a man? Should we have talked about this?"

Dean forced himself to meet those eyes, impossibly dark, almost navy now, and held him close in reassurance. "No, but I don't mean that. I don't care about that," Dean said honestly. He hesitated, biting his lip. "This isn't just sex."

Cas' expression changed, eyes wide with wonder as he understood Dean's meaning, and then he was kissing him, tongue teasing across the seam of his mouth, sighing when Dean opened, drinking him in. He started to move again, frustratingly slow, holding Dean's face captive in his strong hands. Dean appeased his need for touch by running his hands up and down the length of Cas' body, as far as he could reach, then back up between his shoulder blades, and further still to tug at the unruly shock of dark hair, pulling those full lips back to his when they strayed too far. Cas sucked at Dean's tongue, taking time to explore there too, until Dean was panting with want and need.

"Cas, baby, come on," he pleaded, beginning to squirm, trying to wedge a hand between their hips to stroke himself, Cas, both of them, _something_, but Cas had other plans and pressed his hips hard against Dean, flattening him into the bed, denying him the touch he most wanted. He began to kiss his way down Dean's torso, and Dean shivered, muscles jumping as Cas' mouth trailed hot and wet across the sensitive skin of his stomach.

When his lips finally closed around the head of Dean's cock, suckling gently, tongue swirling about the head with just the right amount of pressure, Dean cried out, arms thrown back, bracketing his head. "Jesus_ fuck_," he gasped. "_God, _don't stop_."_

Cas responded by pushing Dean's knees open wide, and Dean let him, feeling wanton and free and like he'd never had sex before, and he _hadn't_, not like this. He gripped the sheets, grasping handfuls of cotton, damp with their sweat, moaning low in his throat when Cas lifted one knee to hook it over his shoulder, giving himself clearer access to all of Dean.

"Dean," Cas whispered, laying feather-light kisses along his inner thigh, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, keeping a steady rhythm in time with the thrust of Dean's hips. Dean thought he might come just from watching Cas watch him fuck into his fist. Then Cas bent low and blew softly across the head, stilling his movements, and Dean shuddered.

"What do you want, Dean," Cas asked, placing a kiss, gentle, on the vein underneath. "Show me what you like."

Dean's mouth worked as he shook his head from side to side, but he had no more words, his mind blessedly empty of everything except the hot, wet, suction of Cas' mouth. He spread his knees further still and urged Cas down again, hand in his hair. Cas raked his stubbled chin up and down the sensitive skin of his cock and Dean cried out, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck!"_ until Cas retreated, returning to tease at the slit with his tongue, before sucking him down hard and fast. He repeated the process over and over again, the abrupt changes keeping Dean on a razor's edge, until he was babbling, incoherent, fingers pulling at Cas' hair.

"Cas," Dean ground out. "_Please." _He tightened his knee around Cas' shoulder, heel digging into his back.

"I've waited so long for this, Dean," Cas said, before swallowing him down, hollowing his cheeks, and Dean came, suffused with pleasure so bright his vision whited out. Cas eased him back to earth, laying gentle, soothing kisses everywhere, until Dean could focus again, warm and pliant, as he lay weak and spent on the mattress. Cas maneuvered his boneless, sated body the way he wanted it, kissing the flushed skin of Dean's torso, tonguing his belly button, sucking the pad of a fingertip between his teeth, fusing their mouths together, tongue scraping against the back of Dean's mouth. Dean could taste himself there and it was hot, hotter than any kiss he'd ever had before.

Dean could feel Cas' hardness pressing insistently against his thigh, and he moved over him, energized, mouthing his way down Cas' neck. "Okay, teacher, let's see how the next lesson goes." Dean's grin was feral and Cas gasped when his teeth closed gently around a nipple.

Cas' body was different and awesome, all sinewy muscle and toned, golden skin. Dean liked the feel of it under his hands, the way it quaked when he touched his lips to a sensitive spot, the way goosebumps peppered the skin when he tongued the spaces between Cas' ribs. Dean especially liked the sounds Cas made while he explored this unknown territory, breathy little moans and sighs, punctuated by the whispered plea of Dean's name when he did something that felt especially good.

When he had kissed his way to the juncture of Cas' thigh, Dean swallowed hard, nervous. "I've never done this before," he murmured, then tentatively ran his tongue along the smooth underside of Cas' cock. It twitched, hard, in response.

Cas exhaled tightly, "Oh _God_, you can't tell…" He groaned, closing his eyes.

Dean took a deep breath and then fit his mouth around the head, sucking experimentally, the taste foreign but not entirely unpleasant. The weight of Cas on his tongue, velvety and hard, was heady, and Dean gripped Cas' hips when they started to stutter, holding him motionless so he could maintain control. Cas breathed his name, eyes tightly closed. Dean released him.

"Cas, look at me," he said. He wanted to watch those blue eyes spark with lust, greedy to know Cas' face when he came. "Open your eyes," he whispered, waiting.

"_Fuck, _Dean," Cas groaned, but he obeyed, and Dean lowered his mouth again, holding his gaze, searing Cas' image into his brain, loving the way his whole body arched off the bed when he came moments later, one hand finding Deans, lacing their fingers tight. Cas collapsed against the sheets, a faint pink flush coating his skin. Dean mouthed the smoothness of his inner thigh, lips absorbing the fine quiver that lingered there, and smiled. He did that. Broke Cas apart into a million tiny pieces. He kissed his way back up to Cas' lips. Now he was going to put him back together again.

…


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Thank you dear readers! Your comments have made this an especially fun piece of fiction to write. MEnjoy the fluff (and a bit of angst. To season things properly!)_

_..._

Dean watched Cas wake in stages. He reacted to the brief pinch of pain when Dean gently bit the pad of his ring finger; Cas shook the offended hand, tucking it under his pillow. Dean smiled to himself, inching closer with careful, quiet movements. Cas breathed deep and even, soft inhalations that Dean could hear faintly whistle when he pressed close to the handsome face. Cas' brow furrowed, and then relaxed, and Dean wondered what he was dreaming, if it was of him. Dean felt as though he had been dreaming of Cas since long before the first time he walked into Joe's, long before he smashed Dean's carefully ordered existence into a thousand pieces of beautiful chaos. Dean had spent his whole life searching for something, waiting, an empty space carved into his day that could never be filled, not with monotony or order, not with job, family or friends. Yet, without trying, Cas fit. And it scared the hell out of Dean.

Dean lifted Cas' other hand and pressed his lips to the palm then gently laid it beside his head on the white cotton of the pillowcase. He stilled when Cas twitched and murmured, moving instinctively closer to Dean's body heat. He smoothed a caress across Cas' flat stomach, lightly feathering fingertips down each dip in muscle, and bent to press a kiss there, low. He glanced up to find Cas awake, eyes heavy-lidded and drowsy. Dean hadn't been sure where he was going to take this, the morning after sex, the morning after, _period_, until he saw that flash of sleepy blue, disappearing behind a flutter of dark lashes with every swipe of Dean's tongue across the sensitive skin.

Then what Dean wanted most was to linger here, unhurried, to press chaste, and not-so-chaste, kisses along the length of him; to memorize every hitch of breath, catalogue every tremble and gasp, then repeat all of the things that prompted the most exquisite sounds. Cas kicked the remnants of the sheets free from his legs and spread his knees so Dean could settle between them. Dean lowered his mouth to fit his lips around the head of Cas' cock, applying slow, wet suction until Cas' head fell back against the pillows, the arch of his neck lovely in its unfettered bliss. All pretense of sleep now gone, Cas cried out, clutching the sheets beneath him when Dean hollowed his cheeks. Desperate fingers dug into Dean's shoulders, dragging, pulling him up the length of Cas' body, and he followed, of course he did; Dean would follow Cas into hell and back he was so entangled, captive. Cas was the moon and Dean was the ocean, and Dean knew he would willingly spend an eternity crashing into him, pulled along by his tidal force.

…

They showered together, and Dean found it cute as fuck that it wasn't awkward. Not that he would ever admit that to _anyone_ in the _history of ever. _ But goddamn, Cas was adorable. He washed Dean's hair, then his own, conditioned both, letting the creamy liquid soak in before methodically rinsing it out. And Dean let him, enjoying his ministrations, especially the very thorough washing his dick got in the process, because it left his own hands and mouth free to explore Cas' much neglected earlobes and neck and chest and back. Dean was growing increasingly enamored of the way Cas' back narrowed at his waist, above his really delectable ass, and how his hipbones shadowed the divot formed from the sharp edge of muscle low on his stomach.

Dean announced he was closing the bar for a week, because they were most definitely not leaving this apartment for the next several days. This would work out nicely with his master plan of not letting Cas wear clothes. The fridge was stocked, the beer was plenty, and there was a fifty-two inch flatscreen in the living room with three hundred plus channels to amuse Dean should he ever, in fact, grow tired of Cas' body (debatable). Dean didn't see the problem with a little impromptu siesta from his life.

His happy bubble was burst mightily right after breakfast when Cas informed him that yes, Dean _did_ have to go back to work that afternoon, and Cas _did_ have to make an appearance at his dig site to supervise or some such shit that Dean was completely and wholly unconvinced was important. As far as Dean was concerned, the rest of the world could take care of their own problems for a day or two, minimum, and let Dean have this tiny, miniscule, sex-filled-vacation with one very hot professor. Dean didn't ask for much from the universe. He figured he was due.

Cas, in that quietly sexy, frustrating way of his, stuck his tongue down Dean's throat until somehow Dean found himself back in the car, fully dressed, traveling southwest to Lawrence by midmorning.

It was really rather annoying.

...

For a first argument, it definitely wasn't the worst Dean could have imagined. That didn't make the sting any less when it happened, however.

Cas had a sister, Anna, who was newly engaged, and this meant Cas was required to make an appearance at a formal dinner in celebration of the upcoming nuptials. He wanted Dean to go with him, of course, but Dean was hesitant. He wasn't sure he was ready for so 'public' a step yet. It would have been hard enough, meeting Cas' family and friends for the first time, in any situation. A big, fancy party was never going to be Dean's style, and if there was one thing Dean needed right now, it was the comfort of familiarity. Dean thought Cas understood that, so maybe he was only being defensive when Cas seemed perplexed by his indecision. He wanted Cas to himself for a while longer, to keep what they had so recently fashioned between them protected. He was loathe to allow strangers pick it apart, to pick Dean apart.

Dean realized he had gotten really good at reading Cas, when it was entirely too easy to interpret the flicker of hurt in Cas' eyes when Dean finally declined his invitation. And it burned. Some part of him knew he was being unfair, the anger misplaced, but Dean's temper had always flared the hottest when it was paired with guilt, and Dean was carrying a lot of guilt mixed in with his feelings for Cas. Guilt that there was a piece of him that still wanted to hide this from the world, mostly, but the part he couldn't put into words was that he was not at all ashamed of Cas, God no. Dean thought Cas was so fucking amazing, he often caught himself losing time in the middle of the day, replaying something Cas did or said, or remembering the smooth gold skin of Cas' torso when Dean snuck the sheets away in the early hours of the day, so he could admire him in the soft morning light before Cas awoke.

Dean was thankfully past the tongue-tied stage of awe he had had when he first realized his feelings for Cas were reciprocated, but that didn't mean he was not still rendered speechless by the way Cas looked at him sometimes. Dean doesn't want anyone or anything to spoil that for him, for them; to take what he has found with Cas and insinuate it was wrong or less or that Dean has been mistaken and these were not the most perfect moments of his life. Sure, he could defend them, defend his feelings, but he doesn't want to, doesn't want to _have_ to. He doesn't want a stranger's prejudice or intolerance to pierce the veil of happiness that blanketed them from the rest of the world. Not yet.

Basically Dean was a coward, but his motivations were pure; he only lacked the words to adequately explain them. Which also pissed him off, so he took it out on Cas.

"It's complicated. I would have to figure something out for the bar." This was only half true; Dean was comfortable handing the reins over to Sam and Jo when necessary, and he had other help as well. The occasional night off wasn't going to tilt things one way or the other at the bar. It was an evasion, pure and simple.

Cas raised one eyebrow, which also riled Dean, because he knew it meant he was transparently obvious.

"What," he bit out, tossing the unread TV Guide to the coffee table.

"Nothing." Cas' face was grim, the previous flicker of hurt in his eyes flashing dark now with anger. Dean was a little fascinated by the change, and cursed his dick which apparently had no qualms whatsoever about angry sex. In fact, it was _extremely_ interested in angry sex judging from the way it perked up when Cas abruptly stood and stalked past Dean to the kitchen, all straight, strong back and tense jaw.

When he came back, two beers in hand, (because he was nothing if not disgustingly considerate, even when he was angry) something childish and too closely resembling fear made Dean stick out a foot, tripping him. Cas tumbled across the couch, into Dean's lap, one of the beers falling to the floor and spilling.

"God, Dean, you're such a dick sometimes." Cas righted the beer, but Dean held his hips in place across his legs, more worried than he cared to admit at Cas' angry tone.

"Yeah, well, so are you," but he soothed the harsh words with a hand on Cas' rigid spine. He massaged the tenseness there and felt the moment Cas acquiesced, relaxing into Dean's touch. He straddled Dean's lap and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. _Yeah_, Dean thought, _he's still pissed_. And Dean's dick still thought pissed Cas was the hottest fucking thing it had ever seen. His hips canted up, searching for friction, and he pulled him closer.

"I don't know what you're worried about," Cas said, resting his forehead on Dean's. "It's not like it will be a family crisis when I show up with a man. They expect it. They already know I'm gay."

"I'm not gay!" Dean could have, should have, bitten his tongue.

"Oh good, glad you cleared that up. I'll make sure they add a qualifier below your name on the place setting," Cas shot back, and he was off of Dean's lap before Dean could react, could retract his own stupidity.

"Cas," he scrambled from the couch and grabbed Cas' wrist to stop him. "Wait."

"I think it's best if I went home tonight. I'm not feeling like I would be good company." Cas' face was angry, but hurt too, and Dean lashed out because _fuck, _did he have to fuck everything up?

"Fine," he bit out, dropping Cas' wrist, wishing he had grabbed his hand instead. The grounding force of their entwined fingers had a way of soothing Dean's soul, and Dean wondered miserably if it would have been enough to ward off this moment. "In fact, I think that's the best idea you've had all night." He didn't mean it of course, and his chest squeezed in panic as he thought of the emptiness of the bed down the hall, the way the sheets still smelled of Cas, the way he would wake up in the morning and know without a doubt that Dean Winchester was an asshole who couldn't have nice things.

"I'll speak with you tomorrow." In full professor mode now, Cas wrapped a scarf around his neck against the burgeoning October chill and was gone before Dean could stop him, before he could apologize, because he knew he was being a ass and a coward, and all he really wanted was for Cas to guide him, to soothe his worries away and promise not to leave him at the mercy of the most terrible fears Dean could conjure. Instead, Dean was left standing alone in the foyer, staring at a closed door, his final glimpse of Cas the liquid blue of his eyes as they turned away from Dean and left him.

…

Dean slept on the couch. And when he went to his bedroom to dress the next morning, he pointedly ignored the still unmade bed from two nights past.

He left for the pub early, placing his weekly liquor order, reorganizing the walk-in cooler, arranging band appearances and live music for the remainder of the fall season. Joe's was a member of the local bar association, and the biannual "Pub Crawl" was coming up in December. There were numerous decisions to be made regarding that; how much ad space did he want to buy, did Joe's logo need to be overhauled, what specials did he want to advertise during the weekend to entice new patrons. It was monotonous, soothing routine.

Dean stayed busy, but it was never quite busy enough to forget the reason he needed to stay busy in the first place.

Cas didn't call.

The afternoon dragged and Dean was loathe to go home, so he didn't. It was a relief when the first customers arrived and Dean finally had something else to occupy his mind and hands. He broke his own rule about checking cell phones while tending bar, but he needn't have bothered; his call log remained oppressively empty. Dean started a text message a dozen times, but each time he didn't know how to finish it, which words were the right words. So he continued mixing drinks and pouring beer and ignoring the tight ache in the center of his chest.

At two, he shooed the wait staff out the door, relieved to have the bar to himself again, to have the work of closing up to occupy his mind and hands for the next hour or two. He pondered the couch in the office; it had been a long time since he had spent the night on it, but he figured the blankets and pillow were still stashed in the closet where he last left them, probably stale, but then Dean didn't expect to get much sleep anyway.

He was wiping down the bar when the front door opened. He had forgotten to lock it. "We're closed," he called, sighing to himself. The Allman Brothers' _Stormy Monday_ played low from the vintage jukebox in the corner. It had been an indulgence, refurbishing it. It was original to Joe's, had been here as long as Dean could remember, and while most of the time Joe's music was piped through a fancy sound system with more buttons and wires and complicated bits than Dean could ever hope to comprehend, there was something about the quiet simplicity of queuing up a song on that old jukebox that spoke to Dean's soul.

He squatted down, arranging the bottles of liquor under the bar into neat rows.

"I'd like to place an order."

Dean's eyes flew to the face leaning over the bar. There was only one person in the world who could belong to that smoke-filled voice. He stood slowly, using a well-worn rag to nervously rub circles on the bar top, heart hammering a hole between his ribs. "What can I get you," he asked. He wondered fleetingly if the tremor in his voice was noticeable.

"I've heard about a Joe's specialty," Cas paused, eyes falling to Dean's mouth. "The Winchester Special?"

Dean flushed, warmth flooding his senses as those hot eyes chafed his skin as they roamed over him. "I think I can help you with that," he said, husky. He set aside the hand towel and slowly, deliberately, peeled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.

Cas licked his bottom lip and Dean's eyes tracked the movement, felt his groin tighten in response. A chorus began to reverberate through his skull, words echoing and making his hands shake, a litany of _he's here thankyouJesus, _and_ baby, if you only knew how much I want you, _and _please God don't let me fuck this up, _and all of it, every booming phrase, was swathed in a single word, a word Dean had never used to embody anyone outside of Sam and his parents.

He grabbed the nearest bottle of Cuervo from below the bar, before he lost his nerve, and unscrewed the cap. His held Cas' gaze as he hopped onto the shining surface, crowding him, jean-clad leg brushing against an arm, inviting touch when he stretched full out on the narrow surface like an offering to the gods. He pillowed his head with one forearm, feigning cool composure, while inside he quaked in turmoil and the basest of fears. The bar was cold against his bare back and his skin tightened in nervous anticipation. He held the bottle out in invitation.

Cas' eyes were wide, pupils dilating with desire and something else, something fiercely possessive. Dean's breathing was so shallow he actually felt lightheaded, time seeming to slow to meet the languid tick of the neon _Coors_ clock on the wall. He sucked in a lungful of air the instant a cold splash of tequila hit his belly button, then exhaled on a groan when Cas' heated mouth sucked it up, biting the toned skin there, tongue continuing in a long, wet stripe up his chest.

Then those blistering lips were on his, tongue pushing into his mouth, flooding him with the taste of tequila and _Cas,_ overloading Dean's senses. His head banged against the bar when he used both hands to hold Cas in place, kissing his apology into that lush mouth, letting his lips and the soft stroke of his tongue say what he could never hope to find words for.

Cas dug his fingers into the skin of his shoulders, dragging him up, mouth stubbornly clinging to Dean's, even when separating would have been more comfortable, easier, and Dean thought helplessly that he hadn't been the only one chasing fear today. Cas slotted himself between Dean's knees, running his hands hungrily across the expanse of smooth, bare skin, nails scraping against the ridge of spine, and Dean shuddered.

He wrenched his mouth away, gasping, lungs burning for air, but he held Cas tight, fingers enmeshed in that thick, unruly hair, unwilling to allow too much free space between them, unsure which of them needed convincing the most. He dropped his forehead to Cas', rubbing his open mouth across his lips, craving contact. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice husky. Maybe the words were simple after all.

Cas pressed their mouths together, searching, searing Dean with his gentleness. He buried his face in Dean's neck and breathed deeply. "Fuck, I missed you."

Dean's arms tightened around him.

Cas' hands fell to Dean's hips and he pressed a kiss into the column of his throat, and leaned back, a rueful smile on his lips. "I'm sorry I said you were a dick."

Dean quirked an eyebrow, brushing back a lock of hair when it fell over Cas' forehead. "Even if it was true?"

Cas chuckled, a quiet sound that kicked up the heat in Dean's blood. "You had good reason."

Dean cupped Cas' face and kissed him softly. "Not good enough." He nuzzled against the stubbled cheek pressed against his face, breathing the familiar scent, letting it settle his nerves. "I want to go with you, to your family's."

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Dean stopped him, shaking his head in warning.

"No, I do. I _did_," he said. "Even last night. I just," Dean paused, searching for the right words, hoping Cas could read the sincerity behind them, willing him to understand. "I really don't know what the hell I'm doing here and I might need you to, you know…"

"Hold your hand?" Cas teased, and Dean would swear, Cas' smile like that, soft and quiet and hitting him right in the solar plexus with its unbridled affection; that smile was the one that could fix all the world's problems. Or at least all of Dean's.

"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I might need you to hold my hand."

Cas tugged Dean down from the bar, and they rubbed against one another to eek out the most friction along the descent. The tight band around Dean's chest loosened its grip and his sense of relief was euphoric, if hesitant. This had not been a small or insignificant blunder. This had been Cas needing something from Dean, and Dean finding himself unwilling to give it. It had been about testing limits and how far Dean could bend before he broke. Dean understood on an intellectual level that they were not infallible, that they could be wounded, perhaps fatally, but the space around his heart was buoyed by reclaimed joy, and for now, that was enough.

Cas snorted, shaking his head in refusal when Dean leeringly suggested reciprocal body shots, but he kicked Dean's t-shirt out of reach, eyes mischievous and twinkling, when Dean bent over to retrieve it. Dean decided he could totally get into being objectified by Cas.

_Stormy Monday_ faded away and _Into the Mystic_ began to play, and they finished closing the bar, stacking chairs and wiping surfaces to Dean's favorite Van Morrison song. Cas caught him when they passed between the narrow space between tables, pressing flush against him, thigh to chest as they swayed under dim lights, and he sang the lyrics low in Dean's ear. '_I don't have to fear it, I want to rock your gypsy soul…'_

Then Dean drove Cas back to his house, where, as far as first makeup sex goes, it was without a doubt the best of Dean's life.

...


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: I have been inflicted with an incurable disease known as Destialis fluffitis. There is no cure. Now you have it too. Sorry not sorry. :D_

…

"So, Daphne." In hindsight, while he was stuck in a car with his _whatever _(Dean was still undecided about Cas' exact descriptor), on the way to meet the family for the first time, Dean's choice of conversation opener was probably in poor taste. The really horrifying part? Dean in no way wanted to possess concrete, factual knowledge about Daphne (or Cas' relationship with her). It would only give him nightmares and tickle an itch that persisted despite all of Dean's recent experience to the contrary: Dean was his own worst enemy in matters of love. He worried the most when things were going well, he ignored things he could and should fix, and he used physical pleasure to abate and distract whenever necessary to avoid uncomfortable things.

Usually he would have accepted (if forced) the barest details Cas might offer regarding past sexual and romantic histories, and consider it water under a distant bridge. Hey, Dean had plenty of water of his own, Mississippi rivers of it, and he wasn't keen on rehashing his own past exploits either (although for kinky breakups, Cas was the clear-cut winner. And Dean had once broken up with a girl while naked on the back of a camel, so that's saying something).

Cas looked evenly at Dean, serene, fucking _angelic_ even, and said with an aplomb Dean hoped to hell he could one day master: "Change the topic, Dean."

Dean half-heartedly wished he could dredge up a spare ounce of anger over the calm dismissal, but instead he welcomed the liquid rush of relief, glad Cas knew him well enough to sense Dean didn't _really_ want to know anyway. He just felt it prudent to have all the facts before he arrived at this family shindig and ran into the ex face to face. Which, obviously, would never be as in flagrante delicto, perhaps, as Cas' last _whatever,_ but pointing _that_ out would also be in poor taste, and Dean still had moderate to high hopes he was going to score athletic _sorry I made you have dinner with my homophobic parents_ sex at the end of the night.

Basically, Dean was nervous as hell and was attempting to fill in more of the blank spaces in his own personal Book of Cas. Sometimes it felt like there were entire, empty chapters he didn't know about Cas' life outside of and before Dean, and it made Dean twitchy. There was no sense going into this gunfight without both barrels loaded and Dean was nothing if not prepared.

Which is why he squirmed on the seat and tried again. "I'm not going to have to, you know, meet her?"

Cas snorted. "I sincerely doubt she'll be there, Dean. Why are you worried about this now?" His brow furrowed, curiosity evident on his handsome face. He took one hand from the wheel and laid it on Dean's knee, squeezing gently. "You really have nothing to worry about. It's just a dinner party. I'm more concerned that you'll be so bored I'll never convince you to go to the wedding with me in June."

"Ugh," Dean groaned. "I hate weddings." But the words lacked venom. The fact that Cas straightforwardly included Dean in his life several months into the future warmed him from the inside out. As far as his acceptance of the invitation went, a summer society wedding (where chances were extremely favorable that Cas would be dressed in formalwear), paired with candlelight and a free wet bar, and an overnight in some fancy-pants hotel (because, hell yeah, Dean was absolutely holding out for the Four Seasons if he had to wear a tux), well... Dean could work with that. That didn't mean he wouldn't let Cas expend a little effort to try and convince him. Cas was a masterfully creative negotiator in ways that made Dean's toes curl.

He covered the hand on his knee with his own, casually lacing their fingers, startling another curious smile from Cas. Dean was blatantly sexual, this was true; and he was affectionate, but it was on the order of _sweet mother Mary and all that's holy I can't keep my hands off of you, _not coiling an arm around a waist after pressing close in the kitchen, or kissing for the simple pleasure of exploring the nuances in the shape of a well-loved mouth. Or holding hands. It hadn't gone unnoticed how much these small gestures appealed to Cas, however, and Dean had been quietly assessing which touches evoked the most emotional response. Somewhere in the middle, he had inadvertently learned exactly what he liked too. It seemed that when it came to Cas, Dean's tolerance level for anything involving skin to skin contact of _any_ kind, went way, way up.

So, Dean Winchester, who had never seen the point before and had, on more than one occasion, vocally scoffed at the very notion, had been covertly testing handholding positions. He was never sure if Cas was onto him or not, but in any case the experiment had backfired in an unexpected way. Dean had discovered that for all his manly posturing, he wasn't physically averse to holding Cas' hand; in fact, it was gratifying, this tether to another. It was a grounding force when he wanted touch, but not necessarily sex (also new for Dean), and it felt good. It felt...intimate. When Cas curled against him on the couch late into the night, grading research papers or watching tv, and he reached over to twine his fingers with Dean's absently, it ignited a slow burn in the pit of Dean's stomach that had nothing to do with sex. And Dean _liked it._ The finish line was great, it was fucking spectacular actually, but Dean was learning to appreciate the slow build of anticipation without the constant, stifling fear that he would lose something if he didn't grab on hard with both hands, suffocating them with his reticence. Cas wasn't going anywhere, and Dean was beginning to understand the finer points of faith.

Dean lightly squeezed Cas' hand, grateful he could drop the whole Daphne conversation after all. The rest of the trip was made in peaceful silence, punctuated only by the occasional chuckle from the driver when Dean began to sing in a rich southern twang, harmonizing effortlessly to a Carrie Underwood song about ball bats and broken glass and pick up trucks. It might have been Cas' turn to pick the music, but that didn't mean Dean had to let him enjoy it unadorned. (And Dean would never admit it in a million years, but he rather enjoyed the spunky Oklahoma girl. Damn. She was also _fine as hell, _and Dean might have lost a few moments there in an impromptu fantasy involving the smoky eyed blonde, Cas and himself and that piano from Cas' apartment, all wrapped around a musical ménage a trois that Dean had to _stop imagining right fucking now _or risk his head exploding).

He rolled his eyes at Cas' smirk. "Shut up." Goddamn his '_I'm having a fantasy about you and I'm imagining you naked right now'_ face anyway. Cas could read him like a book.

Cas' laughter barked bright and clear across the car, and Dean grinned, relaxing against the seat.

...

It was the largest house Dean had ever seen, outside of television. He didn't think it even qualified under that comparatively insignificant label; it was a literal mansion, and Dean looked over at Cas in the driver's seat accusingly.

"Dude. You never once thought it prudent to mention I snagged myself a sugar daddy?"

Cas snorted inelegantly at Dean's indignant tone. "Dean," he admonished, but it was spoken through a huff of laughter, one Dean wasn't sure whether to classify as shocked amusement or merely fond. He swallowed down another flutter of nerves and sent up a furtive prayer he didn't make a total ass out of himself. He also vehemently wished he had paid more attention when Jo was trying to show him the multiple fork thing the day before.

In retrospect, the evening could have gone much worse.

Dean hated them. But that was nothing compared to how much they hated Dean. He had no _fucking_ idea how this group of pretentious, overbearing, bigoted assholes had ever had a hand in turning out someone as amazing, and giving, and loving as Cas, but _God_ Dean was grateful for that stupid twist of fate in his favor. Their disdain was palpable from the moment Cas and Dean crossed the threshold onto the teak parquet floor of the foyer, whereafter they dismissed Cas' guest altogether, and Dean instantly became the invisible man.

Since Dean had prepared himself for something that fell somewhere between furtive glances and intense scrutiny, it was disconcerting to discover he simply wasn't worth their time. Huh. In that case he sort of wished he had stuck to his usual uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. Except then he would have missed the expression on Cas' face when he had greeted him at the door to pick him up earlier.

The day before, Jo had dragged Dean to a freaking Nordstrom's of all places and spent a solid two hours dressing and undressing him like her own personal Ken doll, all while dissecting his size, shape and various anatomical quirks with a men's fashion consultant named Christopher. Christopher, thin, blonde and flaming, had been having quite the slow day until Dean and Jo walked into his department, and he promptly adopted Dean as his own personal Cinderella challenge.

After the initial humiliating task of taking Dean's measurements (Dean suspected Christopher might have checked his inseam length more times than strictly necessary), Dean was shouldered aside while Jo and the intense little man discussed hair color and skin tone and seasons (Dean was apparently a 'spring'), the last of which Dean found strangely fascinating, but never quite understood the significance of. He felt a migraine forming behind the tic he had developed in his left eye.

Standing in the dressing room next to a wheeled rack filled with more things than Dean was _ever_ going to try on, no matter what torture Jo bullied him with, Christopher stubbornly insisted that Dean should wear color. "Oh honey, those green eyes are lush grass just _begging_ for some hardcore pruning."

Dean's mutinous expression was enough to send Jo into a fit of giggles, only subsiding when he threatened to wear his rattiest flannel and faded Levi's to Anna's engagement party. Christopher actually blanched, white knuckling the stainless steel bar of the clothing rack.

"Are you _blind_? He's fucking Tony Stark, not the Green Arrow." Jo stood her ground, having argued that Dean should go the dark and mysteriously sexy route, which Christopher had scoffed as being too 'predictable'. "And you call yourself a fashion stylist," she sniffed.

Dean's headache intensified and he _still_ didn't have a shirt to wear, so he stepped between them before they came to blows over Dean's freckles (fuck his life). He knew Jo was perilously close to losing it if she was mixing DC and Marvel universes, and he was beginning to seriously worry about Christopher's blood pressure. The little guy's neck was so red, he was starting to clash with his hot pink shirt.

"I like the black." They were the first words he had spoken in over an hour.

Christopher nearly swooned at the deep, throaty growl. "Oooh," he breathed. "Yes, of course. Black." He handed Dean a black silk shirt, eyelashes fluttering. Dean gingerly accepted the shirt from the trembling fingers with a wary expression, as if the smaller man might go batshit crazy at any second and molest Dean on the dressing room floor.

"Put the pants back on too, Romeo. _And_ shoes," Jo called, happily climbing onto a storage cabinet and sitting Indian-style, a front row seat for the Dean Winchester Runway Show.

"Goddamn, he's a handsome motherfucker, isn't he?" Christopher murmured, staring moonily at the closed door where Dean was changing.

Jo snickered. "Get in line, Peach. He's already spoken for."

"Pity," Christopher sniffed sadly.

Dean had to admit, staring at his reflection in the full length mirror on the dressing room wall, the combination of dark on dark, the silky sheen of the shirt atop the muted hue of the pant, and the elegant black shoes; well, the whole effect was quite dapper. He might have stepped out of the dressing room with a bit more flourish than was technically required.

Jo's eyebrows hit her hairline and Christopher sank back against the wall with a thud.

"Wow," Christopher crooned. "_Wow."_

Dean strode confidently across the carpeted floor, one hand in the trouser's front pocket. He turned once, a dead-on impersonation of a model's walk. "So?"

Jo's eyes held an appreciative shine that made Dean flush. "Damn Dean, you are _so_ going to get laid."

Dean snorted. "I had no idea you've been harboring such envy all this time, Joanna Beth," he teased gruffly, willing the blush he felt blooming over his cheeks to subside.

Then Jo punched him, and she might be tiny but she packed a mighty whallop in that small fist. Dean didn't point out that he was fairly confident Cas was a sure thing, no matter what he was wearing. Or that Cas had a potent possessive streak and would eat Jo for lunch if he ever caught her looking at Dean with that feral gleam in her eye.

Dean handed off his credit card to Jo and let her take care of the actual payment part of the transaction while he changed back into his clothes. He shuddered to think of his bill next month. Energized that the whole, rather emasculating, experience was behind him, Dean was especially effusive in his gratitude for Christopher's help. They had left the fashion consultant with stars in his eyes.

"Rat bastard snake charmer," Jo grumbled as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala, but she was smiling broadly so the words didn't inflict much damage.

"You're just jealous that I'm prettier than you, Joanna," Dean had smirked.

It had all been worth it tonight, when Dean answered the front door and Cas' mouth had dropped open, jaw slack. Dean could actually _see_ his pupils dilate and it was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life. And that's saying something, because pretty much every single day Cas was doing something that convinced Dean that _that_ was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life. The pupil thing? Hotter.

Jo and Christopher had chosen dark charcoal dress pants, the fronts flat and smooth against Dean's narrow hips, the legs cut slimmer than the jeans he was used to wearing. He wore the black silk shirt, no tie, and left the top two buttons undone as instructed, even though Dean had sputtered it was either twice as gay (Jo had snorted and asked if he really wanted her to comment on _that)_ or made him look like a paid escort.

Standing on the front stoop watching the blue of Cas' eyes swallowed up by black, his nostrils flaring in possessiveness and lust, well, Dean was awfully glad he had followed Jo's advice and forgot about those top two buttons. God_damn_ was he glad, because Cas' eyes laser focused on the bared hollow of his throat, and then he was on him, shoving Dean against the foyer wall, mouth on his, tongue plunging deep and hot and stroking, and Dean was instantly, achingly hard.

"Fuck me," Cas breathed into his mouth.

Dean canted his hips up, ready to comply, looking for even the tiniest bit of relief. He tried to speak but Cas swallowed his tongue again, cutting him off.

"What the everloving _fuck_ are you wearing, oh my _God_." Cas ducked his head to press his mouth into the opening of Dean's collar, sucking gently on his neck. "_Jesus Christ_."

"I played dress up with Jo yesterday." Dean waggled his eyebrows, which broke the tension enough that Cas laughed softly against his skin. "And you look amazing, which I would have said if you hadn't viciously attacked me just now." Dean rolled his pelvis suggestively, hoping Cas could feel just how much he approved of the assault.

And of course, Cas did look freakishly good in his dark suit and blood red tie, but absorbing the beautiful specter Cas made on a daily basis was something of a habit of Dean's by now, and while he would never not be affected by it, he was getting better at soaking it up in small doses. Otherwise, he was apt to stand around staring after the man like a simpleton all the time.

Dean might need Jo to take him shopping again soon, though. He could get used to keeping Cas unbalanced for a change.

Cas brushed his lips close to Dean's ear and ground his hips against him, eliciting a breathless groan. "I would fuck you right here against the wall if I had time. And I _will_ find the time. Later. And you're wearing that shirt."

And with that he had strode out the door, leaving Dean to walk to the car with a little more trouble than usual.

...

Cas maneuvered the cavernous room, a ballroom, Dean was later told, and introduced him with a natural poise and charm that should have eased Dean's nerves. It didn't. Watching the way family friends or distant cousins looked everywhere but at Dean's face, or withdrew their hands too quickly to qualify as a proper handshake, made Dean edgy and ill at ease.

So instead, Dean watched Cas and ignored all the rest. Cas moved among the partygoers with his usual quiet grace that Dean now grasped was a side effect of his upbringing. Where Dean swaggered, rough around the edges and at times uncouth, Cas was smooth and unhurried, a refinement to his every movement that suggested forethought and planning, right down to the elegant way he could raise one brow and cut through Dean's bullshit like a hot knife, or could reduce him to a simpering, pleading mess.

The sincerity in which Cas introduced Dean, as though he were the most important person in attendance, made Dean's throat tight with emotion. Dean was twitchy and anxious and his fancy shirt was hot. He longed for the car, or home, or the bar, some place familiar and private, or for yesterday morning on his couch, straddling Cas' hips and thrusting into his hands as Cas wrung an orgasm from him with the same unhurried attention to detail he now paid Dean's introductions.

Before tonight, Dean had harbored this idea, gleaned from tidbits of information Cas sparingly offered, that he and Cas were separated by the vast, unbreachable chasm of their upbringings; that they were so improbably ill-suited, it was a miracle they had ever crossed paths, much less fallen into the whateverDean wasn't calling this today (although the exact words were rolling around on his tongue with more precision and insistence with every passing moment). Mentally Dean had been cataloging all of the things he did not know but that Cas seemed born knowing, compiling a (stupid, insecure) list of differences, yes, but mostly it was Dean's list of ways Cas would realize Dean really _was_ a Neanderthal and not at all worth Cas' time. One hundred and one ways that Castiel might come to his senses and leave Dean broken and bleeding and alone.

Dean had worked himself into a fine state by the time they made their rounds of the room, and that was when the man in question, the man who occupied the top spot on Dean's list of _terrifying things_, began to chip away at Dean's insecurities without being asked to. Dean didn't need to vocalize his discomfort or increasing distress, because Cas was so finely tuned to Dean that he already _knew. _Dean's nerves were soothed the most by Cas' proximity, and he realized somewhere near the zenith of his internal freak out, that Cas never strayed far, frequently laying a hand across Dean's back, or squeezing his wrist.

Dean's frayed nerves were then easily exchanged with a growing need for Cas, bolstered by each light, grounding touch, each small smile. He and Cas moved in tandem, magnetic forces pulled in the same direction.

Dean noted Cas' uncanny ability to discern the exact distance before Dean's nervous tension began to ratchet up, and his knack for staying within that boundary. Dean mentally named it his 'freak-out zone'; outside of the zone, and Dean's head began to fill with fear and disillusionment and anxiety. Cas needed only a body part in proximity of the zone and Dean was immediately calmer, more rational.

Then, Dean was startled by a crazy idea; maybe he and Cas weren't so dissimilar after all. Maybe, Dean thought, watching the other man carefully, maybe Cas had a freak-out zone too. Maybe Cas was not staying within reach, a fingers-breadth away, because he was trying to help _Dean_, but because he, _Cas_, needed the constant reassurance that Dean would not go anywhere, that he was here for the long haul. That Dean wouldn't hold these awful examples of family and humanity against him, and decide he didn't want him.

Dean staggered under this new awareness, and he instinctively _knew_ he was right. Maybe it was the pinched look in Cas' eyes, a brief spark of worry behind his lashes as his gaze followed Dean, when he thought Dean wasn't paying attention. The knowledge that _his_ presence, Dean's touch and attention, might be the thing Cas sought out first, the most, well that was it, that was all she wrote. Dean's mind went blank and his heart thudded to a halt, and he metaphorically laid his sword and shield at Cas' feet and kneeled in surrender.

Cas had no inkling of the magnitude or significance of this improbable event in Dean Winchester's rather short and uninteresting life. He stood beside Dean, handsome and unassuming, giving him a soft smile and a surreptitious wink, apology in his eyes for the long-winded story of an elderly neighbor, the crux of which Dean had tuned out long ago. Unable to stand it, not one second more of it, heart bursting with a palpable yearning that clawed for release, Dean startled Cas by grabbing his hand.

Cas' eyes widened in surprise when Dean leaned close to the woman and interrupted. "I'm sorry, can you excuse us," then turned swiftly away, pulling Cas past a throng of smarmy tuxedoed assholes, shoving him through the first private-looking door they came across.

The room was an office, or a library, a large mahogany desk in the center, the dark wood and leather and Cuban cigar-tinged air spelling "man's domain" as effectively as signage. Dean ignored all of that, overwhelmed with the need to possess, and he slammed Cas against the closed door, sealing their lips together, desire flaring bright between them.

Cas recovered from his shock swiftly and kissed back, matching Dean's aggression with tongue and rolling hips, wrenching Dean hard against him, curving his arms around to claw at Dean's back. Dean lifted his head, and Cas followed, lips clinging, gasping, "Dean..."

But Dean kissed him, hard, then pinned his shoulders against the door, admiring Cas' flushed cheeks and reddened lips. Their eyes collided and held.

"I love you."

Cas' sharp intake of breath, a quick gasp of air, brushed his chest against Dean's and his lips fell open invitingly. Dean had to press his mouth there, sucking the lower lip between his teeth, kissing him gently. "I love you," he whispered, dragging his mouth along the ridge of Cas' jaw. Cas' fingers dug painfully into his waist now, and Dean could feel his surprise under the quiver of pleasure. Dean sucked a sweet kiss into the soft skin under his earlobe and said quietly, firmly, against his ear, "I love you."

And then Cas' mouth was on his, fingers scrambling for purchase on Dean's scalp, tugging his mouth into position so his tongue could dive in, scraping along Dean's teeth, into the hollow of his cheek, the roof of his mouth. And Dean let him, a familiar, inexhaustible hunger for Cas that was always, _always,_ returned flooding between them. They broke apart only to breathe and Dean wished they didn't need that, who needed oxygen or paltry things like breathing when Cas' mouth was on his and his hands were everywhere, tugging at Dean's clothes and rumpling him, although Cas was still, always, the one who needed rumpling.

"Dean," Cas whispered against his cheek. "God."

Dean smiled, loving that he had _done this._ He had reduced Cas to monosyllables, to trembling hands and hard, breathless presses of mouth on skin. "I needed to say it. I thought I was going to start shouting it to the room if I didn't get you out of there and all to myself."

Cas chuckled, leaning back and straightening Dean's hair, combing it back into place where his fingers had forced it into sexy disarray. "_I_ fucking love _you_, you ass."

Dean quirked one eyebrow. "And here I thought you were the one with the gilded tongue."

Cas smiled, the most beatific expression Dean had ever seen on his face. "I've been in love with you for a while, Dean." Dean's heart constricted tight in his chest and he suppressed a shiver. "I had this whole plan for how I wanted to tell you." Cas wrinkled his nose. "It might have involved flower petals." He kissed Dean's forehead. "And your naked body."

Dean squirmed, porny images immediately jumping to the forefront of his imagination.

Cas grazed his lips down Dean's cheek. "And a lot, _a lot, _of tequila."

Dean snorted. "Baby, you know me so well." He ducked his head forward to brush his tongue across Cas' upper lip. Cas caught it and sucked it into his mouth until Dean was panting again, wanting.

"I love you, Dean. Sometimes I think there's never been anyone, could never be anyone for me, but you."

Dean's heart fluttered at the words and his chest swelled. "Me too," he whispered gruffly.

Insomuch as Dean would have gladly dragged Cas from this monstrous house and these monstrous people _right fucking now_, they forced themselves to leave the office a few moments later and return to the party. Dean knew that the rest of the evening would pass excruciatingly slow, but he was peaceful, nerves gone. Dean Winchester in love. Who would have thought?

...


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: Sorry, previous perfect fluff makes for hard bridge scenes. You know what I hate? I hate that at some point I'm going to have to leave these two behind. I'm sobbing at the thought. Hopefully not as long before the next update..._

...

"Cas, why don't you get your," Cas' mother paused, for the first time meeting Dean's eyes, "your _friend_ a drink."

Dean met Celeste Novak's gaze with a steady, unflinching one of his own. He didn't know whether to feel proud or disgusted when she was the first to look away. Especially since as soon as Cas left to find Dean a beer, she too walked away, leaving Dean standing in the middle of a group of hostile strangers. This, he figured, had been Celeste's plan all along, and it was probably a really good thing she lived in Maine and wouldn't be a regular visitor. Not that he could picture Celeste Novak in their living room anyway.

Dean swallowed hard and wondered when _his_ living room had become _their_ living room in his mind. "Great," he muttered. Now his chest was tight and his heart was fluttery and he was feeling downright woozy imagining Cas there, in his bed, in his kitchen, in his life, every day, forever. _Holy shit._

If Cas had been a woman, Dean was savvy enough to recognize he would be having his first ever brush with the M word. Other than feeling like he might puke from the sheer, overwhelming sense of _yearning _the idea gave him, it didn't scare him nearly as much as he would have assumed. Which in turn, scared him shitless. Now he really wished he had that beer and his eyes scanned the crowd for the familiar dark head. He moved to a wall near the patio door where there were fewer people and he didn't have to keep up the pretense of eye contact.

So far, Dean mused, he had managed to survive the before-dinner cocktails and the dinner itself (a '_quaint_, _old-fashioned barbecue'_, otherwise known as rich folks eating middle-class food, no fancy forks required). Now he just had to make it through the after-dinner drinks and schmoozing and Dean was home free. Maybe, he smiled to himself, he could convince Cas to ditch early and then Dean could take him home and start to bring a couple of his fantasies about that red tie to life.

Dean leaned back against the wall (which he was positive would have garnered him an icy glare from Celeste Novak had she been acknowledging Dean's existence, which she wasn't, so it didn't matter) and gazed up at the elaborate ceiling of the ballroom. It was painted with a sky scene, and reminded Dean of pictures he had seen of Roman Catholic cathedrals in Europe. The mansion, as it turned out, belonged to Cas' oldest brother, Lucifer. Dean never did catch exactly what it was that Lucifer did for a living (and the guy's creepy death stare made the hair stand up on the back of Dean's neck so he was keeping his distance from _that_), but Lucifer's wife was one of those supermodel types who stared vacantly at Dean while eating her lettuce leaf during dinner, and then knocked back an entire bottle of champagne all by herself in under an hour.

Michael, the next eldest brother, was an attorney but approximately nineteen seconds after Dean shared that his brother Sam was also a lawyer, the entire conversation attempt was aborted when Michael simply turned and walked.

"Douchebag," Dean muttered now, remembering.

"See, I could tell you were perceptive the first time I met you." Dean turned to find Gabriel grinning at him from behind an extra large bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. "Need a little pick me up, Deano?"

"Fuck, yes." Dean sighed in relief.

Gabriel chuckled. "I'd say something reassuring like they're not good in social situations or that they're really not as bad as they seem," he winked. "But I'd be lying." He handed Dean the glasses and popped the cork on the bottle. Dean had never been a wine fan, but since Cas had apparently gotten waylaid somewhere else, he'd take what he could get.

"So, you come here often?"

Dean choked and Gabriel patted his back, hard. "Easy there, tiger." Dean glared, still coughing, but the other man threw an arm around his shoulders and tugged him toward the door. "Let's go for a walk."

Dean let himself be pulled outside, after scanning the crowd fruitlessly for any sign of Cas. The back yard was less intimidating than the front, with a pool and pool toys visible through a wrought iron gate. Dean tried to imagine Lucifer floating on a foam noodle and failed. Gabriel flopped onto one of the pristine white lounge chairs lining the patio and then patted the one next to him seductively. Dean snorted, thinking _what the hell, _and stretched out beside him. They drank in silence for several moments, Gabe judiciously refilling their glasses as needed.

"You know Balthazar is here, right?"

Dean's head swiveled. "What," he sputtered, gripping the armrest, hard.

"Yeah," Gabe waved his nearly empty glass toward the house. "In there. Saw him talking to Cas earlier, you should probably be on the alert for shenanigans of the sexually deviant kind."

Dean scrambled to get off the chair. "What the fuck is he doing here?" His head spun and he fought for balance when he stood. Maybe he had drunk more wine than he thought.

Gabe shrugged. "I brought him."

Dean clenched his fists to prevent from ramming one of them through Gabe's smug, smiling face. "Why the fuck would you do _that_?"

Gabe sat up, carefully placing his empty wine glass on the ground. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at Dean seriously. "You know, Deano, you're not doing Cas any favors if your master plan is to fuck and run."

'Hey," Dean protested, head spinning from the rapid twists this conversation was taking. "You don't know the first thing about me."

"No, I don't. But I'm more of a fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of guy myself and I think I've seen you at the monthly mixers."

"Yeah, well, you're wrong." But he wasn't, not really, and it made Dean intensely uncomfortable to admit it, even to himself. In the very, very beginning, Dean hadn't been sure what the hell he was doing with Cas; more than once he had assumed this whole thing was temporary. Hell, even now, even after offering words Dean had never told another soul outside of family, words Dean had never _felt_ for anyone else...well, there stubbornly remained a tiny niggling worry that it was all going to go pear-shaped.

Gabriel nodded, seeing the truth in Dean's eyes. "Look, all I'm saying is, figure your shit out. Cas is gorgeously, hopelessly in love with you, if you haven't caught on, and I will hunt you down if you screw him over." Gabriel watched Dean thoughtfully. "I also wanted you to have the opportunity to view your principal competition in action."

Dean was mollified, somewhat, at that. Although he certainly didn't need Gabriel pointing out any differences between him and Balthazar; Dean was capable of doing a fine job of that all by himself.

Seeing the wheels turning in Dean's head Gabe held up a hand. "Now don't go twisting your panties in a knot just yet, Deano. I only meant that Balthazar is going to come at him hard and fast. He wants him, he's always wanted Cas." Gabe lowered his voice. "God only knows what Cas ever saw in him, I think the guy's an arrogant prick, but what can you do? In any case, he knows exactly how to get under Cas' skin and I have a feeling he's going to be making an offer that will be pretty hard for Cas to refuse."

Dean watched Gabriel with renewed respect. "And you're telling me this because..."

"Because I want you to beat the smug fucker at his own game. Fuck him, he had his shot. Cas deserves better." Gabriel stood and retrieved the empty wine bottle. "I just haven't made up my mind yet if you're the 'better'." He laughed. "Now I'm going to go find my date. She's a stripper and you're welcome."

Dean cocked an eyebrow, wondering if he would ever be able to follow this man's logic.

Gabe winked. "I didn't want you to be the most embarrassing thing Mother had to deal with tonight."

...

Dean found Cas standing in the absolute last place he had hoped to find him, next to a man who could only be Balthazar, and in the middle of a full on belly laugh. Dean's stomach soured at the sound, bold and free and carrying over the voices of the other guests. He fought his first instinct, which was to plant his fist in the middle of Balthazar's handsome face. And he _was_ handsome, the bastard. _Goddammit. _

Carrying himself with an inherent grace, Balthazar had no qualms about standing closer to Cas than Dean was comfortable with, or leaning his blonde head far too near Cas' as they spoke. But Dean also noted the very obvious light in Cas' eyes when he spotted Dean approaching, and although Balthazar seemed all too willing to disobey the rules of proper proximity when you're _not in a fucking relationship anymore,_ Cas resolved it by claiming Dean, possibly in the most overtly possessive gesture Dean had ever witnessed from him, pressing up close and placing a warm hand low on Dean's back when he made introductions. Dean vowed to himself that Cas was getting the hottest fucking blow job of his life in return as soon as they made it out of this train wreck.

"Balthazar, this is Dean." Cas' lips were lifted when he met Dean's gaze, a secret smile that Dean couldn't decipher, but he thought it might have meant '_Don't worry, I love you_' and '_Be civil, you moron'_.

Dean held out his hand, pleased to find it was rock steady when the other man grasped it in a firm shake. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." He smirked to himself at Balthazar's raised eyebrows. _Dean: 1, Balthazar: 0._

"And you own Joe's, the little pub in Lawrence. Nice place," Balthazar said, and his accent was British, which annoyed Dean for no reason he could put his finger on. "I have enjoyed many a beer there. In fact," he chuckled, "once I ate an entire Joe's nacho platter in a fit of rampant hunger. I think I might have scared your wait staff."

"You ate the entire thing?" Dean was impressed in spite of himself. Joe's nachos were rather legendary in and of themselves, loaded with four cheeses, grilled steak and chicken, and topped with guacamole and sour cream, but the platter served four to six. He eyed Balthazar for insincerity but found none. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed them."

Dean could see the way Balthazar's eyes slid from him to Cas, and Dean resented the vibe he got, like the other man could read between the lines of them, and see all of the things about Cas that Dean had yet to discover.

Balthazar commandeered the brief lull in conversation, filling Cas in on a recent dig he had completed in Central America. Dean watched Cas' eyes spark with interest and figured it was just his rotten luck that _of course _Balthazar was an archaeologist too. As Balthazar animatedly described the website his team had set up to catalog the artifacts they were recovering, Lucifer appeared stealthily enough to give Dean a jolt, waving them to the office where there was a computer they could use.

Cas hesitated and Dean could feel him tense beside him, a longing to prove something to Dean warring with a deep-seated, nerdy desire to view the dumb old bones Balthazar had dug up. "Go on," Dean said, giving him a push toward the office door. "But don't leave me hanging out here to dry for long. Your brother Gabe has another bottle and he's giving me the stink eye." Dean nodded toward the shorter Novak, who raised a glass from his perch across the room, leering at his scantily clad date. Dean wanted to be proud of his magnanimity, but his gut clenched and spasmed with a perverse sort of anxiety until Cas' arm snuck around his waist, nestling him tight and warm against his side.

He leaned close to Dean's ear and said, voice low and rough, "Your ass looks fucking fantastic in those pants. I'll be right back."

Dean felt his face flush hot before the heat rushed to settle low in his stomach, and he grinned, letting his mind wander into fantasy terrain as he watched them walk away. Cas' ass was no eyesore either.

He jumped when a hand brushed his arm, pressing a bottle into his palm. It was Anna, and her red, red hair, a fiery cascade against the midnight blue of her gown, was mesmerizing. Other than a brief introduction, this was the one Novak sibling he had yet to speak with.

"It's more you than the gay, you know," she said matter of factly.

"Uh what, now?" Dean sputtered, nearly choking on the drink he had just taken from the beer.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, the fact that Cas is gay is most definitely _not_ copacetic with mother dearest." Anna's eyes glittered in the candlelight. "But she could _tolerate_ it, if you weren't so gauchely poor."

"Now, wait a minute," Dean said, fury rising in his chest.

Anna laughed, the sound brittle and tinkling. "Calm down, Dean, I'm on your side." She stroked Dean's arm again, and he steeled himself not to flinch. He was not overly fond of anyone in Cas' family it would seem. "She loves Balthazar, though," she mused.

Dean glared, but waited, instinct urging him to let Anna have her say, knowing he was powerless anyway.

"Balth is so, sooo suave, you know." Anna winked. "Old money is the only money, according to mother. She could overlook the, as she would say, _queerness, _of it all for Balthazar's zero's." Anna laughed at Dean's sick expression. "You, however, are everything my mother loathes about the middle class."

"Anna." The word was sharp, biting. Cas' eyes were twin blue flames as he approached and Dean had never seen his face so hard. "Enough," he said between his teeth.

"Just telling the truth, Castiel," Anna smiled serenely. "We do it so rarely don't we? And I thought Dean deserved-" she paused, tilting her head in a move so reminiscent of Cas that Dean's heart ached just a little bit. "The absolute truth? Wouldn't you agree?"

But Cas was tugging at Dean's arm, handing her the unfinished beer, and Anna's laughter followed them across the parquet floor and out of the door.

They sat in the parked car, Cas quiet as he looked up at the monstrous house. He smiled wanly at Dean. "Let's never do that again, okay?" His eyes were pinched and Dean's heart clenched at the tired expression he could see lurking behind them. This had not been an easy evening for Cas either.

Dean reached over and grabbed that blasted red tie, wrapping it once around his fist and using it to bring Cas' face to meet his. He kissed him, coaxing Cas' lips open with a gentle flick of tongue, languid, soft strokes until he felt Cas relax. "Deal," Dean answered belatedly, nibbling his mouth across Cas' cheek, enjoying the rough texture of stubble on stubble.

He worked at the knot in Cas' tie, loosening it until he had room to unbutton the top two buttons of the dress shirt, massaging the knots he could feel at the nape of Cas' neck. He ducked forward to taste the newly exposed skin, and Cas carded his fingers through Dean's hair, palm resting gently on his crown to hold him in place.

"You know," Dean said, sucking a kiss in the hollow of Cas' throat, "We should just invite all of them over to our house. The impressive size of my TV might force an honest to God expression out of Lucifer."

Cas laughed softly, and Dean glanced up to find him completely relaxed now, eyes closed, head back against the seat rest, enjoying Dean's ministrations. Dean unbuttoned one more button and gripped that chiseled chin in his fingers, turning it so he could mouth the hinge of Cas' jaw. "Mmmm," Cas murmured.

"And that scary wife of his, I can see her offering all sorts of useful decorating tips." Dean placed a soft kiss behind his ear. "There's a Martha Stewart lurking underneath all of that silicone and botox, I can tell. And your mother-"

Cas snorted, cracking open one eye. "My _mother _is coming too?"

Dean ignored him, breathing deep and relishing the warm, spicy scent of Cas' neck. _God._ Nothing should smell that good. It was sinful. "Your mother reminds me of those organizational gurus you see on midnight infomercials." He gently kissed the warm skin. "I bet she would be able to solve the dilemma of our sad lack of closet space in the bedroom with one trip to Home Depot."

Dean's hands itched to work Cas' belt free and take this little seduction to the next level. What had started out as a simple relaxation exercise had rapidly evolved into full-fledged foreplay, as it was wont to do every time Dean had free rein to put his hands on Cas unhindered. He snuck one hand around Cas' back to pull him close instead and kissed him again, deep and languorously. They rested against one another, foreheads grazing and breaths mingling, warm and moist. "Or, you know, we can always invite them to your apartment-"

"Our," Cas interrupted, voice worn gravel and smooth honey.

"Hmmm," Dean asked, distracted by the plush bow of Cas' upper lip, which had thus far been sorely neglected.

"Don't stop saying 'our'."

Dean hesitated, mentally shaking free the fog of desire that blanketed the moment. He searched Cas' face and found quiet blue eyes staring calmly back. Dean swallowed. "Our apartment," he said huskily.

Cas cupped his face and pulled Dean to him, kissing him fervently, tongue darting into his mouth, searching, until Dean was the one left whimpering and needy.

"Let's go home," Cas said softly, pushing Dean gently back toward his side of the car. They had migrated to the center of the front seat, making out in the dark like a couple of teenagers, parked in Lucifer's posh circular drive. The windows were fogged over, Dean noted with a grin as he disentangled his arms, immediately missing the warmth of Cas pressed against him.

"Or we could just stay here and neck some more." He said leaning across the seat to steal one more kiss.

"Your side," Cas said sternly, shoving him back into place.

...

Dean's resolve lasted about twelve miles. With his earlier declaration banging against his heart, wanting to make itself known, to prove itself in actions as well as words, Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the seat. He kissed whatever skin he could easily access, temple, cheek, jaw, pulling the tie free and tossing it in the backseat.

"Dean," Cas breathed, moaning when Dean bit into the soft skin of his neck. "Trying to drive here, babe."

It was the first endearment Cas had ever used and it punched through Dean's core in a bolt of desire. "Then pull over." Dean worried Cas' earlobe between his teeth, enjoying the fuck out of the sounds Cas was making.

Cas cursed and pulled off the highway, turning into the first dark, quiet side road he could find. Dean grinned and had him unzipped and free of his boxers before Cas even had the car in park. Dean bent low, eager for him, wanting to erase the last of the night's tension with each long pull of his tongue.

Dean enjoyed all of it; the smell of Cas' body, the feel of his hard length against his lips, the way Cas' fingers gripped his head, gentle at first but losing control and a little too rough as he barreled closer to the edge. Dean loved it when Cas came apart under his hands and mouth, because it meant he trusted Dean to take care of him.

Mostly, he loved the boneless, blissed out expression on Cas' face while he watched Dean tuck him back into place and rearrange his clothing. Dean cupped his palm around Cas' thigh, not ready to move away just yet.

"I'm getting pretty good at that." It was vanity, pure and simple, and Cas chuckled in the steamy, dark interior of the car.

"If you get any better, you're going to kill me." He looked at Dean through his lashes and Dean read his intent instantly.

"Nope. You drive," Dean said moving back to his seat and buckling up. "But there's a wall with your name on it just inside our front door."

Cas smiled slowly in the dark and started the car.

...


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Note: Would anyone complain if I just skip all the plotty bits and planned story arc and write smooshy fluff forever? No? Okay._

...

Dean was sitting at the bar making out the weekly schedule for staff when Sam dropped a folded newspaper on top of his paperwork.

"Wow, Sammy," Dean grumbled, reaching to shove the paper aside. He froze, focusing on the grainy photos. "What the hell-"

"You're famous," Sam smirked, leaning an elbow on the bar and stealing a drink from Dean's soda.

The centermost photo was a head shot of Dean and Cas, one of a full-page spread of photos detailing Anna's engagement party, the cover story for the weekly Weddings insert. They were standing close, smiling at each other, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. The caption read _The bride-to-be's brother, Castiel Novak and guest._

Dean snorted. "I guess I should be relieved no one thought I was important enough to get my name." He scoured his memories of that night for a photographer but came up empty. And the guy must have been right in their face; it was a really good photo of them. "Good picture," he said grudgingly.

Sam was silent, smiling at him with a bemused expression.

"What?" Dean rolled his eyes, refolding the paper and setting it aside carefully. He wanted to take it home later and show Cas, who he knew would get all soft and quiet when he saw the photo. They didn't have any photos of the two of them together, Dean mused. They should really probably remedy that. Dean would have to find the perfect moment to share the newspaper though; any mention of that night was enough to set Cas off lately. He still hadn't forgiven his family for their careless treatment of Dean, although Dean was ambivalent about it. He had Cas and that was all that mattered at the end of the day. He could make nice with the occasional irritating relative. It wasn't as if Dean's family closet didn't have a few skeletons rattling around in it too.

"You're taking this pretty well," Sam said. "I'm impressed."

"You're the one who went to Stanford, Sammy. Are you really going to rag on me now for being enlightened?" Dean glared pointedly at Sam over the rims of his reading glasses. He rarely used the damn things, but it seemed like every year he needed them more and more to focus on fine print. Unless he wanted to hold the paper out at arms length and look like an idiot every time he had to sign a contract.

Plus, Cas had a thing for them in a major way. Dean smiled to himself, thoughts drifting.

"Stop that right now," Sam barked.

"What?"

"You're thinking about Cas naked, I can tell. It's your sexy times face and I really can't believe I just said that. I need to go scrub my brain now, _God_." Sam flounced off to the kitchen and Dean chuckled, watching him slam through the door.

...

Jo squealed when she saw the newspaper photo. "Oh my God_,_" she clasped her hands to her chest. "You have to frame this and hang it over the bar with the rest of the family pictures. I wonder if the photographer would give us a copy of the actual photo?"

The wall behind the cash register was covered in frames. There were the usual required documents, like liquor license and Better Business Bureau awards, but there were also numerous small framed photos of the Winchesters: Dean and Sam, aged six and ten, swinging their legs from their perch atop the bar; a candid shot of their mom, Mary, with their dad, caught mid-laugh at this very register; the boys and John on their respective high school graduation days. The newest photo was of Jo and Sam, one Dean had snapped during a backyard barbecue a few summers back, Jo's shining blonde head beaming up at Sam, her very own Adonis come to life.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said, noncommittally but his insides churned in a not entirely unpleasant way. The thought of glancing up on a busy night and seeing that moment, captured unaware, a sweet reminder that sometimes the two of them were alone in the universe, even in a crowded room; Dean thought he might be able to get used to that.

Jo jumped down from her seat on a stool. "I'm going to run over to the Quik-Trip and buy two more copies."

"Jo, wait," Dean started, but he was too late. She was already beelining it through the front door, squeezing past the night's first patrons. "She better get her cute little ass back here quick," he grumbled to himself. His eyes fell on the blank patch of wall next to Jo and Sam's photo and then winced when his heart did a happy flip. Lord. He should probably go eat some red meat, smoke a cigar and throw back a tumbler of Jameson, pronto, before his balls disappeared altogether.

...

The pub was rocking, even for a Friday night, and they were standing three deep around the bar before Dean had another chance to think about the photo. Even then, it was only after Cas showed up and was tying an apron around his trim hips (distracting in Dean's best, most focused moments). Cas froze behind the register, and Dean had to nudge him aside to make change.

"Move your tight ass, Novak." When Cas didn't budge, Dean looked over to find him rooted to the spot in front of the wall of family photos. Jo had indeed gone to the Quik-Trip and returned with not two, but three copies of the paper. She had immediately sat down to cut out one of the photos of Cas and Dean, and used a thumbtack she found in the cash till to pin it into the wall next to the one of she and Sam. "Temporary placeholder," she had winked. "I'm calling the Star on Monday and seeing what it will take to get a real copy."

Dean smiled to himself. He had been right; Cas' eyes were soft and fond, the way they got sometimes when he looked at Dean. He handed his customer the appropriate change and turned to press his lips close to Cas' ear. "You're very photogenic." Cas jumped. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes immediately falling to Dean's mouth. Dean wet his lips, just a brief flick of tongue, and _whoa_, that tender, affectionate look evolved rapidly into something hot and hungry. Dean swallowed and willed himself to take a step back. At the register, in front of a couple hundred of Joe's patrons, probably wasn't the place to give Cas what he was clearly asking for, which most likely involved Dean on his back and half naked. And pleading.

But _God,_ Dean wanted to.

Still, he couldn't let this moment pass without something, so he gripped Cas' waist with one hand, needing touch, the contact like a balm for his skittering nerves. He leaned close again. "I saved you a copy too, it's in the office."

Cas smiled, eyes still scorching him with promises that made Dean's neck prickle in anticipation. "You surprise me, Dean Winchester, in so many ways."

Dean ducked his head, unable to absorb everything Cas was giving him with just a look. He hoped the dark interior hid the flush of color in his cheeks. "Yeah yeah, there's more caveman here than meets the eye." He smiled though, happy in a way he hadn't been happy in a long time, maybe ever. "Now get your gorgeous ass in gear and serve these thirsty people. They sure as hell aren't going to serve themselves."

...

"So, Deano, what was the congressman like, anyway," called a man over the din of Friday night in full swing. Rufus had been a fixture at Joe's for as long as Dean could remember. He and John had been old friends, often fishing together on the weekends in the summer; hot, lazy days on the lake that Dean counted as some of his best childhood memories.

"Huh?" Dean frowned, pushing lime wedges into two bottles of Corona before handing them to a busty blonde who held his fingers a shade too long when he passed her the beers.

Cas appeared at his elbow, looking coolly down his nose at the blonde until she blanched and scurried away. "Anna's fiancé is Congressman Nall," he said calmly once the girl was gone. He shrugged when he found Dean staring at him in amusement. "What."

Dean chuckled. "Nothing." He turned back to Rufus. "I wouldn't know one of our congressmen if they walked up and bit my ass, Rufus. Are you surprised?"

Rufus harrumphed, rolling his eyes and nodding his head at the wall behind the register. "Well, that's a real nice photo and all, but you might have at least worn a tie."

Dean's eyes widened. "What's wrong with what I was wearing?" Which, Dean thought, might be the most surreal question he had ever asked the older man. Nevermind that Dean and Cas were clearly _together_ in the photo. Dean Winchester. Lawrence High School football star, ladies man, son of the macho-est former-Marine son of a bitch this side of the Mississippi. On a date. With a man.

And all Rufus cared about was the fact that he hadn't worn a tie.

"You don't go gallivanting around at fancy parties in the home of the head of NovCo-" Rufus paused in his tirade to take a long drink of his beer and Dean took the opportunity to glance questioningly at Cas as he passed behind him again.

"Lucifer," Cas offered.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course. NovCo was the largest employer in the tri-county area.

"-dressed like a damn gigolo." Rufus thumped the bar with a fist in emphasis.

"Told you so," Dean elbowed Jo to his right, as she opened a new package of paper napkins.

"Rufus, what the hell do you know about fashion anyway. Dean's ass was smoking hot that night." Jo leaned over the bar, indignant irritation plain on her face.

"Do I want to know?" Sam asked, catching the tail end of Jo's declaration as he grabbed a handful of the newly replenished napkins.

"Nope," Dean grinned.

"Your daddy would have worn a tie," Rufus stated with finality.

Dean snorted. "Duly noted, old man. Next time I have to get slicked up and presentable, I'll give you a call so you can preapprove my wardrobe."

Rufus mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _smartass,_ but Dean just laughed, clasping hands with his dad's old friend before moving on to help the next customer.

...

Dean let Cas guide him down the hall toward the bedroom, wishing like hell he wasn't so exhausted. It was long after two a.m. and there was still Saturday inventory to get through tomorrow and then Saturday night after that. It didn't seem to matter that Dean was more than willing; his body was screaming for rest instead of the hot, messy sex he had been meticulously planning all damn night in his head. Fucking life as a grown up, he thought. He didn't realize he had spoken the thought aloud until Cas chuckled.

"You'll survive." Cas hit the light switch inside the bedroom door and Dean blinked.

"Ow."

"Poor baby," Cas whispered, peeling Dean's shirt over his head and claiming his lips a soon as they appeared through the neck opening.

"Mmmm," Dean murmured. "I'm not really _that_ tired," he said against Cas' mouth.

Cas gripped his hips and walked him backwards until Dean's legs hit the bed, kissing him slow and thorough. He unfastened Dean's jeans and let them fall to the floor. "Get in bed."

Dean threaded his fingers through Cas' hair, cradling his head while he thrust his tongue deep into another kiss, already half hard and aching. He rubbed against him, moaning when he felt Cas' hardness align with his own.

Cas pushed him back, sighing. "You're about to drop, Dean. Bed. Now."

"Asshole," Dean said affectionately, with one more hard kiss. He settled back against the pillows and watched Cas undress. "You know, an extraordinarily attractive bar owner tells me you're kind of a cocktease, but a real animal in the sack." He waggled his eyebrows and Cas laughed softly, turning out the light.

"Yeah, well, just between you and me," Cas whispered, settling over Dean, a warm press of skin on skin. "I plan to rock his world tomorrow morning." He dipped his head and kissed the tattoo over Dean's heart.

"Mmmm," Dean sighed. "I don't suppose I can convince you to throw over this handsome bastard and take a tumble with me instead."

Cas mouthed the curve of muscles forming the definition of Dean's chest, scooting down to suck lightly against the edge of a nipple.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean breathed. He wedged a knee between Cas' legs, feeling a tantalizing hardness against his thigh.

Cas rested his cheek against him, breathing deep. "Sorry, I always think I can resist you."

Dean huffed a quiet laugh. "Why the hell would you want to?"

Cas bit into the sensitive skin over his ribs in retaliation, then flopped back on his pillow only to be dragged snug against Dean's side a moment later.

"Love you," Dean said sleepily, letting the exhaustion claim him, warm and content.

"I love you."

Dean smiled, his last thought of soft lips brushing against his in the dark.

...


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note**__: Lord. I swear I meant to actually move the plot forward and whatnot. What IS IT about these two? They are so freakishly hot and cute and I can't stop with the sexy times. We are taking a turn in the story shortly...several of you are omniscient. Or is that prescient? Anywho, your sniffers are super accurate. It's not here yet, but it's comin'. That's all I'm saying. Unless I'm too weak to leave the sexy times. Hey, it could happen..._

...

Dean was sprawled lazily across the foot of the bed, watching Cas retrieve meticulously folded piles of clothing from his suitcase, then stack them on the edge of the bed for sorting. This was it, the last bit from Cas' apartment. They had systematically, over the course of a week, moved Cas out of his temporary home near the university and into Dean's house. It had been accomplished without fanfare, or even much discussion, and more than once Dean had considered this the easiest major life decision he had ever made. Sometimes he wondered if that meant it was fate, or destiny, or some other preordained bullshit like those mystical types recounted on afternoon talk shows. Mostly he just counted himself the luckiest bastard on earth.

Dean had only ever been to university housing a few times, and Cas had never really settled into the space as a long-term dwelling anyway, so neither was emotionally invested in the property. After Cas met Dean, he was there even less. Dean by necessity worked late most nights, and since Cas usually ended up wherever Dean was, it was simpler for Cas to come home with him at night.

Plus, Dean liked Cas in his house. He fit into the space effortlessly. Their daily routines meshed well, and they were sort of astonishingly well suited. He had not been able to resist teasing Cas, though, the afternoon he had shown up carrying the first container of his belongings, a small box of office supplies.

"Whatcha got there, Professor?" Dean peered into the open box. It was painstakingly organized for a square of recycled cardboard, containing a stapler, a tin of push pins, a box of paperclips, and assorted pens and notebooks.

"I thought I might bring some of my office items over. You're not using the desk anyway, and I can do my grading easier." Cas ducked his head and Dean had a sneaking suspicion he might be blushing. He bent low, trying to catch Cas' eye.

"Were you going to ask permission before you filched a piece of my furniture for yourself?" Dean purposefully made his voice gruffer than usual, smiling to himself when Cas bit his lip hesitantly, brow furrowing. Dean took the box from him and tossed it on the floor, ignoring the rattle that indicated he had destroyed the tidy, orderly arrangement. There was a persistent part of him that wanted to thoroughly mess up tidy, orderly Cas too. He pulled the other man close and kissed him. "I'm kidding, by the way."

Cas leaned into Dean's touch, exhaling in a rush. "That's a relief, because I gave up my lease."

Dean grinned, tilting backward to better see his face. "You did?"

Cas nodded, sheepish. "I probably should have asked first, huh?"

Dean fit his hands low on Cas' backside, kneading the firm flesh. "Mmm mmm," he shook his head, brushing their lips together. "You did good, Professor." Another kiss, coaxing lips open with a swipe of tongue. "Now I don't have to feel guilty about tricking you into doing my laundry on the weekends."

Cas gave him a push and Dean fell back onto the couch, blinking up in surprise. Cas was straddling his lap before he could react.

"Mmmph," Dean mumbled around Cas' mouth. Then Cas' hands were under his shirt, pulling the hem high, raking his fingernails down Dean's chest, and grinding down in his lap until Dean was burning up, perspiration dotting his forehead. His hands roved aimlessly, trying to find purchase in Cas' hair, against his back. Dean had never quite figured out how he was the one who usually ended up naked first, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that Cas' clothes were infinitely more complicated. Cas was wearing fucking _cufflinks_, and they were hampering Dean's efforts to unbutton his cuff to get at the delicate bone of his wrist. Dean wanted his mouth there, licking a stripe along the smooth skin of the underside of Cas' forearm, watching goosebumps pepper the flesh. But Cas' tongue was wickedly at play in his mouth, wrecking havoc with Dean's concentration to the point he finally gave up and decided to just hold on and let Cas have his way.

Cas hadn't disappointed, Dean mused now, as he watched him unpack the last suitcase. He shifted restlessly, recalling the way Cas had taken them both in his hands and his cock twitched in memory. He grabbed Cas' hand when he was close enough, yanking him onto the bed.

"Dean," Cas chided, his unrelentingly neat piles falling onto the floor in disarray.

Dean tugged harder until he had Cas under him, manhandling him into a suitable position for sucking a lazy hickey into the soft tan skin above his t-shirt ribbing.

"You," Cas groaned, pretty eyelashes fluttering closed. "You're a terrible influence."

Dean grinned, kissing the faint bite mark. "No shit." He brushed his fingers through Cas' hair, smiling at the way it stood up at crazy angles, admiring his thoroughly debauched appearance. "You look like you've been well-fucked."

Cas snorted. "Don't look so pleased with yourself, Winchester."

Challenged, Dean slid their hips into practiced alignment and watched Cas' eyes darken. "No one else better be putting that expression on your face, Professor," he growled.

Cas moved beneath him, rocking his hips into Dean's. "No?"

Dean's eyes flashed, a spark of jealousy and possession deepening the iris to emerald. "Not unless they want to have their ass handed to them." He pinned Cas against the mattress, controlling the press and slide of friction until Cas' eyes rolled back in his head, hands clutching at Dean's shoulders.

"Dean," he exhaled on a moan and Dean swallowed the sound in a rough kiss.

"You're mine," he breathed against that plush mouth. He gentled his hard grasp on Cas' hips, trying to parse the overwhelming fury that had flared to life at the thought of someone else touching Cas.

"And you're mine." Cas pulled Dean's mouth back to his in a hot, messy slide of lips and tongue. They broke apart with a soft, wet sound that left a whole host of depraved thoughts in Dean's mind.

Dean ground his teeth when Cas rocked forward again, aligning their cocks with scary precision. He was so close, and all they'd done was kiss and rut against each other. He held Cas' hips motionless, dropping his lips to suck on the first scrap of bare skin he landed on. He hadn't come in his pants since he was a teenager, but he could feel the cords in his neck popping now, trying to maintain control. "Why the fuck aren't we naked," he whined pitifully against Cas' neck.

Cas laughed, hands gentle now as they roamed over his back, rubbing in soothing circles. "Because you never learned that patience was a virtue."

"Fuck virtue," Dean groused, lifting his head to grin cheekily down at him. "Now, get naked."

Cas offered a choppy salute and then wiggled out from under Dean enough to rip his t-shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. He repeated the motion with Dean's shirt, and then Dean lowered again, sighing at the delicious bliss of chest to chest. He let Cas roll him to his back and relaxed against the bedding, watching Cas' long fingers unbutton his fly, shuddering when Cas cupped him through his boxers, dragging his knuckles across the smooth cotton.

Cas leaned over, licking a kiss into his mouth. "Some clothes? No clothes," he asked in a whisper, gently easing down the elastic of Dean's boxers.

"Naked, naked, naked," Dean chanted, gripping the coverlet when Cas paused in undressing him to slide a loose fist up and down Dean's cock, pressing a finger to the pearly bead of wetness at the tip.

"Naked it is," Cas chuckled and Dean would hate the fucker for being so in control and _sane_, except goddamn, he was good at this, reducing Dean to a quivering, whimpering, incoherent mess. _Someone_ had to keep his wits about him, and Dean was not ashamed in the least to pass the buck to an expert.

And when Cas' mouth closed over him seconds later, Dean was really, _really_ happy that Cas was such an expert.

...

Collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Dean breathed deep in contentment. "You're fucking brilliant." Cas' chest was flushed a pretty pink and his heart still raced under Dean's cheek.

"I am," Cas agreed, voice husky and low the way Dean loved. "Now shut the fuck up so I can regain my strength. I still have to reorganize your stupid closet."

Dean chuckled. "You're sticky and messy. I call first shower." He sat up and winced. They had most definitely made a mess of the coverlet. That would have to go in the first load of laundry. He leaned over the bed and grabbed the first cloth he could find, using it to gently wipe any stickiness from Cas' stomach.

Cas popped open one eye and frowned. "That was clean."

Dean smirked, using the garment on himself perfunctorily. "And now it's not." He leaned over Cas, loving the way the other man's hands immediately circled his waist. He kissed him softly. "Come shower with me and then I'll help you with the closet."

"Mmmm," Cas murmured against his lips. "Home Depot." He licked at the seam of Dean's mouth until he let him in. Dean sank down against him again, sweat-cooled and seeking warmth.

Dean blinked and raised his head, his response time not quite up to par. "What?"

Cas nibbled at Dean's jawline. "I want a tie rack, and one of those shoe cubbies."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I think you're the hottest thing on the planet." He sat up and smacked Cas on the thigh. "Up and at 'em then."

He stood and stretched, feeling suddenly refreshed and energized. Cas whistled a catcall from his perch on the bed and Dean flexed for him with a wink. "Now get up, you hussy."

...

Dean locked the front door and jumped from the top step. "Hey Cas," he called. Cas turned and Dean tossed him the car keys.

Cas caught them one handed on reflex, eyes widening. He glanced at the Impala and then back to Dean. "You're fucking kidding me."

"Go easy on her." Dean walked past him and opened the passenger door, enjoying the hell out of Cas' stunned expression.

Cas slid into the driver's seat and clicked his seatbelt into place. When he turned the key, the engine roared to life and Dean smiled involuntarily. That was his baby. Cas' gaze slid over to him in suspicion. "Is this your idea of suitable payback for a really fantastic blow job?"

Dean's arm was stretched across the seat back and he quirked his left hand as if to say, _if the shoe fits, _with a broad grin. Cas was a walking fantasy all on his own, that much was true; now the picture he made behind the wheel was going to be fuel enough for plenty of sweet daydreams to come. "You should probably drive before I decide I don't care so much about scandalizing the neighbors."

Cas' smile was wide when he backed the car out of the drive.

...

Home Depot was crowded the way it always seemed to be on the weekend, teeming with couples arguing over dishwashers and paint swatches, harried families with children hanging off the oversize carts, running in to pick up a package of nails or light bulbs or batteries. Dean, more familiar with the store layout than Cas (who looked rather intimidated by the oversize ceilings and extra wide aisles), steered them to the aisle of closet organizers near the back of the store. It was quieter here, not a newlywed or helpful orange vest in sight. He huffed a laugh at Cas' rapturous expression as he slowly perused the rows of shelving systems.

"Try to focus on what we came for," Dean joked.

Cas waved him off, carefully reading the flipchart of installation suggestions attached to the shelf by a silver keyring. Of course he was reading the instructions, Dean thought fondly. Painstakingly meticulous ass, anyway. "You don't really need to read those, babe."

Cas ignored him so Dean stepped closer, lowering his voice seductively. "Because I'm kinda handy," he let his words flutter across the back of Cas' neck, watching the corner of his mouth lift. "With my tools, I mean."

Cas arched one eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with being thorough, Dean." And damn him, the sex voice was just not playing fair. Dean's fingers twitched. Cas' eyes fell the length of Dean's body, then tracked back to his eyes. "I thought you liked it when I was thorough."

Dean glanced up and down the aisle but found it blessedly clear of customers, so he leaned in for a fast, hard kiss. "You're going to be the end of me, you know that?"

Cas smiled calmly and pushed Dean toward the shoe organizers. "Pick one, handyman."

They made it out of the warehouse with a minimum of fuss, all things considered. Cas had his revolving tie rack, and a shoe thing that Dean was positive would be a bitch to put together, his previous bragging notwithstanding, and a small shelving system that Dean was more than a little jealous of for the tender looks Cas was giving it.

Forty minutes later Dean was cursing the heinous shelving unit's very existence, convinced it was a tool of Satan and had been brought into this world to torture Dean and prevent him from ever having sex again. Because what he really wanted was to have sex again, at some point this weekend, and if he had learned anything from all this time with Cas, it was that the man was patently incapable of leaving a job half-finished. Currently, the 'system' was a pile of screws, a stack of shelves, and a few poles haphazardly placed inside Dean's newly emptied closet. This didn't bode well for Dean's immediate sex life.

Cas, in his methodical way, was matching every piece in the box against the _item list_ that came stapled to the first page of the instructions. Dean was tempted to rip the instruction sheet from his hands and tear it into confetti-sized pieces, but he wasn't willing to incur Cas' wrath over a pile of particle board. Not yet anyway.

"I'm going to make a sandwich," he said, wincing when his back popped noisily as he stretched, muscles stiff from sitting in one position too long. "You want ham or turkey?"

"Whatever," Cas replied distractedly. He was literally _counting_ the screws now, and Dean was going to strangle him and then burn his body using the particle board shelves for firewood. It was clearly time for some distance. He went to the kitchen and made lunch, eating his sandwich standing at the counter.

Cas wandered in twenty minutes later, stealing Dean's beer for a long pull. Dean handed him a saucer with a ham sandwich on it (lettuce, pickles, no mayo), wondering what it would take to convince Cas to take the shelf thing back to the store. Before, you know, _murder _(or would it be manslaughter? Where was Sam when you needed him?) Although Dean was positive this wouldn't be the first time a crime had been committed in the name of closet organization. There had to be precedent, right?

Cas smiled. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes, because sincere Cas, with his fucking blue eyes and rough, tired voice, and all the love and gratitude Dean had never known he needed like air... well just fuck him. That was all. "Eat your sandwich," he said gruffly. "And sit down for a while." Cas watched him curiously, chewing his first bite. Dean sighed, leaning over to kiss his temple. "I'll be in the bedroom."

Dean stood over Cas' neatly sectioned components, staring at them for a long moment before studying the finished photo on the box. Then he kicked the instruction sheet under the bed and went to work.

...

"Hey, Dean, I think the shelving kit is missing a piece—" Cas stopped in the doorway.

Dean lay on his back on the floor of the closet, tightening the final screw on the underside of the bottom shelf. He grinned up at Cas. "I made do."

"What? How?" Cas walked to the closet and ran his hand over the smooth faux wood finish. It was perfect. He looked at Dean, lying at his feet, handsome and smiling, altogether too pleased with himself. "I'm speechless."

"I can see that," Dean chuckled and tugged on his jeans leg. "C'mere."

Cas sank to the floor, lying down next to him. "This isn't how the clothes are going to get put away, you know."

Dean scooted him closer until Cas' head was beside his under the shelf. He nudged him in the side with an elbow. "I thought it should be christened."

Cas' brow furrowed and he looked at Dean in confusion, but Dean was staring at something above his head. Cas leaned closer and then he saw it, etched into the underside of the lowest slat of wood: D + C. His face softened in amused affection. "That may be the sweetest, cheesiest thing you've ever done."

"Or will do again," Dean agreed, feeling silly and foolish but happier than he had felt in years.

"That's it, now we're having sex in the closet," Cas said before pouncing on him.

Dean's laughter rang throughout the little house. "And thank _God _for that_,_" he said fervently as Cas' body settled on top of him. The sounds echoing from the bottom of the closet after that were definitely of the porn-ier variety.

...


	14. Chapter 14

**_Author's Note: _**_Sam! Bobby! Ellen! GABE! Wheeeeee! I can't help but feeling like, now... all the pins are set. Hang on tight._

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket when it rang, smiling at the caller ID. "Hey Sammy."

"Hey. You playing ball today?"

Dean glanced at Cas on the opposite end of the couch. His dark head was buried in a book about ancient Troy. Dean figured that was probably the sign of a true calling, when you enjoyed 'work' even when you weren't at work. "Sure, you gonna join?"

"Yeah, Jo is kicking me out so she can steam the carpets or something."

"You mean you're afraid Jo wants you to help steam carpets and you're making sure you've already got plans."

Sam's laugh carried over the line and Dean smiled. He loved his little brother. It would be good to spend some time with him. "Let me call Dirk and double check times and I'll call you right back, slacker."

"Basketball?" Cas' eyes never left the page.

Dean sank one knee into the cushion, a hand on either side of Cas' shoulders caging him between his arms. He grinned at the droll look Cas gave him over the top of his book. "You want to put that stinky old book down for five minutes and come get sweaty with me?"

"I've already been sweaty with you once today," Cas deadpanned.

"Ouch," Dean whispered, dropping his head closer until Cas conceded and met his mouth.

"Mmmm," Dean smacked his lips. "You stay here, then, and see if you can learn anything interesting from those porny old Greeks. I'll be back in time for supper."

He started to stand and Cas caught him with one hand at his nape, pulling him back for another kiss. "I might be persuaded to get sweaty for dessert."

Dean grinned. "I'm going to hold you to that."

...

Sam was waiting on the front steps when Dean turned into the drive, and his stupidly long frame when he stood made Dean smile in malicious glee. They were _so_ going to kick Dirk's ass. He jumped when his phone rang.

"Dirk?"

"Hey, Dean," his friend said. "Uh, sorry man, but looks like we're going to have to cancel."

Dean frowned. "Everything okay?" Damn. He had been looking forward to this.

"No, yeah, I mean," Dirk fumbled and Dean frowned again. He sounded strained. "Tommy and ah, Rick both had some family stuff this afternoon, so we decided to reschedule. Maybe next Sunday. I'll call you, all right?"

"Sure," Dean started to say but there was a faint click in his ear. He pulled it away to view the screen and found the call had ended. "Okay, then."

Sam dropped into the seat next to him. "What's up?"

"Guys cancelled," Dean felt like he had missed an entire chapter of the story there, but he shrugged. Weird. "I'm still game if you are."

"God, yes," Sam breathed in relief. "Please don't make me go back in there."

Dean chuckled and patted his knee in sympathy. "Dude. I had to build a prefab shelf for the closet yesterday to hold all of Cas' ties. Trust me, I feel your pain."

"Yeah, but we all know how much you _love_ Cas' ties_._" Sam gave him an exaggerated leer.

"Oh shut up, Sammy," Dean complained, but it lacked heat and Sam laughed.

"So whipped."

"Says the guy who spent his entire summer vacation repainting the living room. Twice!"

Sam groaned. "Don't remind me. God. My shoulders were sore for a week."

"Ew, Sammy, please keep your dirty sex exploits to yourself. Jo's like my sister."

"Yeah, your sister who is _dying_ to know all the kinky details of _your_ sex life," Sam complained. "Don't even with me."

Dean's mouth opened and closed. Well. "I guess I could share a few choice—"

"Ugh! Dean!"

Dean laughed until Sam threatened to shove the basketball up a very sensitive body part. When they pulled into Gold's Gym, Dean pointed at a white SUV parked in the lot.

"Hey, that's Dirk right there." He frowned. "Wonder if they changed their mind?" He dug his phone out of his pocket to check, but he had no missed calls. He did, however, have a text message from Cas: _Protect the jewels. I'm rather fond of them._

Dean smiled and typed out a reply. _Does that mean I get dessert first? _

He followed Sam through the gym entry. Dean didn't know if his use of Gold's was ever going to be worth the membership cost, but every month he still paid the bill. At the very least, it forced him off the couch a few times a week out of sheer tightfistedness, if not to enjoy the workouts.

He and Sam pushed through the double glass doors of the basketball gym. There were four goals, four half courts; plenty of room for several pick up basketball games. Dirk, Tommy, Rick and three other guys were in the throes of a heated match. Dean and Sam paused on the edge of the court and watched.

"So, what do you think," Sam asked, voice low.

Dean shook his head, basketball tucked under his arm. "I have no idea." He tried to catch Dirk's eye, but after a few moments, it was painfully obvious that the other men were avoiding acknowledging them. Dean took a step forward, but Sam's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Dean, let's just go." Sam's expression was tight and Dean could read the worry there.

A part of Dean wanted to walk right up to the group of his _friends_, and ask what the fuck was going on. They had been playing basketball together on the weekends for the better part of three years. He swallowed his anger and let Sam pull him backwards, through the double doors and out to the parking lot.

He exhaled into the cold afternoon, his breath fogging in a puff of white. "Well, that wasn't awkward at all."

Sam smiled down at him, shaking his head ruefully. "Man, do you think this is about the picture in the paper?"

Dean shrugged. He had no idea, but he supposed that was the most likely explanation. "You know what sucks? I feel like a fourteen year-old girl who got dissed by her girlfriends," he grumbled.

"And just like I'd tell fourteen year-old-girl you, they obviously weren't your friends to begin with. Forget about it." Sam knocked the side of his fist against Dean's shoulder. "Let's go to Stanley Park instead."

Dean groaned. "It's colder than a witch's tit out here."

But Sam had already punched the basketball from the crook of Dean's elbow and was spinning it nonchalantly on the tip of his index finger. Conceited bastard.

"Chickenshit pussy afraid of a little cold?"

Dean pursed his lips. "You know, your delivery would have more impact if your hair wasn't long enough to braid, Samantha."

They played one on one in the park until Dean couldn't feel his nose or his toes, Sam only conceding defeat after he got a text message from Jo that read, _I'm done with the steamer you lazy ass. _When he dropped Sam off, Dean watched his brother walk to the front porch, where Jo stood waiting. She launched herself from the front step and Sam caught her, laughing. Dean lifted his hand in a wave, smiling at the sweet picture they made. As he drove home, he mused he might get to cancel his Gold's membership after all.

He didn't tell Cas about Dirk and the others. But that night they made love in the living room, in front of a warm fire, and he let Cas blanket him with tenderness and affection, canceling out the rest of the world, a gentle reminder that life could be so much worse.

...

"So, um, Thanksgiving." Dean fidgeted at the kitchen table, watching Cas scramble eggs in a cast iron skillet. His dark hair was standing in it's usual array of manic tufts and he was wearing Dean's AC/DC shirt, the one with the blood stains that Dean had never fully gotten out in the wash.

Cas quirked an eyebrow at Dean over his shoulder. "Fourth Thursday in November."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know when it is, smartass. I meant, what are your plans."

Cas turned to face him, holding the skillet in one hand, the other stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon to prevent them from burning. "I guess that depends on what your plans are. I plan to be where you plan to be."

Dean sighed in relief. "So no Novak family shindigs or anything."

Cas' smile was sardonic. "We don't really _do_ family, Dean." He divided the eggs between two plates and then set the skillet back on the stove, clicking the burner off. "I might see what Gabe has planned, sometimes we have dinner together. What were you thinking?"

Dean bit his lip, hesitating. Cas set a plate in front of him then took his seat, freezing when Dean blurted, "Why don't you ever say grace?"

"What?"

"Well," Dean stammered. "I mean, all the biblical names and—" he waved his hand in the air, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "And you're... Catholic?" He dragged out the word, uncertainty in his tone. But who names their kids after angels, if they're not religious?

Cas settled a napkin across his lap and studied Dean fondly. "Lapsed," he said, shaking his head. "I haven't been to mass in years. And I don't know."

Dean frowned, tilting his head. Fuck if he hadn't already forgotten the question. The concentrated blue of Cas' eyes skimming over his face never failed to jumble his thoughts.

"Grace? It was never a priority in my family. We rarely ate together." Cas scooped a bite of eggs onto his fork and blew on them gently. He looked pointedly at Dean's untouched plate. "Did you want me to say grace?"

"No," Dean said hurriedly. "Unless you want to." He scrubbed his face. He had no idea how this conversation had tracked so far from where he had intended it to go. "I mean, I thought if you weren't doing it because you thought I would be offended or something, I wouldn't be." Cas was smiling at him in amusement so Dean shut up and shoveled in a forkful of eggs.

"I'm so glad we got that settled," Cas teased. "Now, what were you avoiding asking me about Thanksgiving."

Dean exhaled. Fucking perceptive boyfriend, anyway. "Jo and Sam are going to drive up to South Dakota, to Bobby and Ellen's for the weekend."

"And you'd like to go too?" Cas cocked his head, watching him closely. It was clear he wasn't sure what to make of Dean's hesitancy.

"Would you want to?" Dean squirmed in his seat until Cas reached across the table. Dean laid his hand across Cas' open palm and watched the fingers close around his, warm and tight and soothing.

"I'd love to meet Bobby and Ellen. If you want me there."

Dean was sweating bullets, and he had no idea why this was proving to be so hard, except that Bobby was the only family he and Sam had left. When they were kids, after their mom died, their dad would take off, sometimes for days. Bobby's was a safe haven, a place to run and play and be kids and get yelled at when they came in late for supper. It was stupidly, unforgivably, normal, and Dean had often thought if he and Sam hadn't had Bobby in those darkest months after their mom's death, they would have turned out to be entirely different people than the ones they became.

Ellen Harvelle, Jo's mom, had been the proprietor of the bar down the road from Bobby's salvage yard. After her husband Bill died in a freak boating accident, she had leaned on her oldest friends, John and Bobby; while one was always just a comrade in arms, the other one, the gruff, ballsy, auto mechanic (who taught Dean everything he knew about cars), was the one who stole her heart.

Ellen and Bobby were Dean's surrogate parents. Their approval meant as much to Dean as anyone's could, and while he had no qualms about introducing them to this unconventional love he had found, he understood it would likely be something of a shock. Still... Dean's subconscious had done a funny thing over the past few months; it had rearranged the hierarchy in his mind and in his heart until Cas occupied the pinnacle of importance. Everything else had to slot in somewhere below that.

"Cas, I want you there. Here, there, everywhere." He grinned. "In a box, on a plane, in a house, on a train."

Cas rolled his eyes, but Dean could see a telltale blush color his cheeks, and his eyes sparked the hot blue that Dean knew meant he was affected more than he would say in words. "Then we'll go."

Dean cleared his throat, which was suspiciously tight. "I'll call them after breakfast." He squeezed Cas' fingers. "Thanks, Cas."

...

"Hey, Bobby."

"Bout damn time you called." The gruff mechanic's voice was as irascible as ever and Dean grinned, instantly warmed and nostalgic.

"Yeah, yeah. How's things?"

"Well damn, boy, how do you think _things_ are? It's fudging cold up here and that woman has me on a diet now, says my blood pressure is too high. Damned know it all doctors."

Dean hummed his sympathy, waiting for the tirade die out. "So, I was thinking about coming up for Thanksgiving, with Sam and Jo."

"Yeah? Why are you telling me that? You don't need permission to visit you know," Bobby grouched and Dean could practically hear the eyeroll.

Dean took a deep breath. "I wanted to bring someone with me, a," Dean paused but chickened out at the last moment. "A friend."

"Ahhh, now we're getting to the meat and potatoes of this social call. What's 'er name?"

Dean could hear the tab pop on a can of soda over the phone. "Cas." He waited, wondering miserably if he was going to be a pussy all of his life, or just for today.

"Cas," Bobby grumbled. "Didn't you date a Cassie in high school? It's not that girl is it? I didn't like her."

"No, Bobby, look," Dean ground his teeth together. _Spit it out,_ he thought.

"So are you and _Cas,"_ Bobby sing-songed the name and Dean groaned to himself. "Are you two going to be sharing the pullout couch or do I need to drag that old army cot from the storage shed?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming. "Sharing," he mumbled.

"I can't hear you when you mumble, boy."

"Share, Bobby. We're going to share." Dean was practically shouting now and he took a deep, steadying breath. "Bobby—"

"Now look, I know I ain't your daddy, and you can do what you want, but I've been hearing things. Rufus called last week."

"Fuck my everfucking life," Dean moaned.

_"Bobby Singer, stop harassing the boy and give me that phone." _Dean heard Ellen's voice approaching and he could have cried when she finally came on the line.

"Don't believe to a word he says; the crabby old bastard's a rank liar." Ellen gentled her voice. "Jo's told us about your Cas, Dean, and we can't wait to meet him."

Dean could hear Bobby chuckling in the background and he sagged against the kitchen wall, relief flooding his system. "Yeah," he asked, swallowing hard.

"Jo sent us your newspaper picture, Bobby's got it hanging on the fridge right next to one of Jo and Sam." Dean could hear Bobby beside her. "_Now why'd you go and tell him that for."_

Dean laughed weakly, feeling the last of the tension bleed away. He guessed now it was really official. Cas was going to meet the parents.

...

Thanksgiving Eve dawned bitterly cold, the sky turning darker grey and more ominous with each mile as they drove north across Iowa. Jo and Sam had left the day before, but Dean had had to arrange coverage for the bar for the weekend, triple checking inventory to ensure everything would run smoothly in his absence. This would be the first time he had left the bar for this long since taking over after his dad died, but he trusted his staff; most had been with him since the beginning with the exception of the assorted college kids who rotated in and out during the school year.

Gabriel, as it turned out, was in Las Vegas for a convention, but would fly into Rapid City on the only available flight that afternoon. There, he would rent a car and drive the rest of the way to Bobby's on Thanksgiving morning. Dean tried not to worry about his addition to their midst, but Gabe was still a frustrating and sarcastic riddle. A part of him guiltily hoped Gabe served as a suitable distraction from Dean's own life; he had never brought anyone home before. He wasn't looking forward to the inevitable scrutiny and ribbing, good-natured or not.

When they finally drove through the Singer Salvage gate, Dean looked over at Cas and winked. "This is it," he said, his voice amazingly steady considering his stomach was churning with acid.

As they walked to the porch, Cas' eyes roved over the salvage yard with the same exactitude Dean recognized him applying to the archaeological site. Dean looked at the landscape through Cas' eyes; he supposed it could appear to be one big treasure chest, if you were a history nerd like Cas. The old cars and trucks, heaps of rust and iron hidden amid the tall grasses, looked ripe for discovery. He reached down and squeezed Cas' fingers.

"I'll take you exploring later, show you my favorite spots."

Cas grinned. "You just want to neck in the back of an old junker."

Dean laughed. "That too." He stiffened when the door opened and dropped Cas' hand.

"Dean Winchester, get your ass up here," Ellen cried, screen door slamming against the wall in her zeal.

Dean's heart swelled at the sight of her smiling face and he jogged up the steps of the porch to grab her around the waist in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. "Goddamn, woman, you look good enough to eat." He buried his nose in her brown hair, breathing his childhood. "You smell like pie," he sighed happily. "Please tell me you have pie."

"Put me down, you oaf," she laughed, smacking him hard on the back. "Of course I have pie, what do you think I've gone senile in my old age?"

"You're not old, Ellen," Dean smirked, still holding her at the waist. "You're a fine piece of ass for a—"

"Hey, hey," she joked. "No need to say the number out loud. Now," she said, turning to Cas who had made his way to the top of the steps. "Castiel." Her smile was warm and inviting and when she held open her arms to him, Dean wanted to kiss her full on the mouth, bursting with love and affection for this woman, who had unflinchingly signed on for the dubious role of his mother so long ago.

Cas stepped easily into her embrace and smiled at Dean over her head. "Ellen," he said. "It was so good of you to invite me. Thank you."

Ellen patted him with less force than she had applied to Dean and leaned back to study his face. "You're disgustingly beautiful," she stated plainly and Dean choked back a surprised laugh. She ignored him and continued, leaning up to kiss Cas' cheek. "I can see why Dean is so taken with you."

"Oh my God," Dean said under his breath, pulling her off of Cas, cheeks hot and flushed. "Okay, okay. Let him breathe."

Ellen chuckled and waved them through the door ahead of her. "Well come on, then. No more stalling. You know Bobby is hiding behind the curtain plotting his next move."

"I heard that," Bobby called.

But then Jo was in the doorway, jumping into Dean's arms, and planting a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek. "It's about time you two got here. Did you stop and _rest-_" she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, "-on the way or what?"

"Yes," Cas said seriously before Dean could protest. "It's such a _long,_ drive, Jo. Dean needed several _rest _stops." He met her gaze coolly. "I'm assuming Sam didn't, then? Perhaps I could give you some pointers?"

Jo's mouth fell open and Ellen hooted with laughter.

"Joanna Beth, get off of Dean and let us in the house. It's ass cold out here."

Dean felt his nerves ratchet up again when they stepped over the threshold and faced Bobby, gruff old bastard standing there in the same flannel shirt he was wearing the last time Dean had seen him, baseball cap atop his balding head, _Singer Salvage Yard _emblazoned across the front in bright yellow stitching.

"Bobby," Dean said, gripping Cas' arm hard. "This is Castiel Novak. Cas, Bobby Singer."

Bobby took Cas' proffered hand, and Dean couldn't tell if the hard-boiled expression in his eyes was normal Bobby sternness or something else. "Welcome to South Dakota, Cas," he said finally.

Cas withstood the scrutiny with a quiet composure that made Dean's pulse race. "Thank you, Mr. Singer. It was kind of you and Ellen to invite me." Ellen was right; Cas _was_ beautiful, Dean thought, watching him shake Bobby's hand solemnly.

"How do you feel about football," Bobby asked, still holding Cas' hand.

Dean held his breath. _Fuck shit damn_. He should have warned Cas.

"I think Tom Brady is overrated."

Silence.

"Hmph," Bobby's eyes narrowed appreciatively and he dropped Cas' hand. "At last, someone with some common sense around here."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Bobby turned to go back into the living room, where Dean could see Sam watching the whole exchange with a bemused expression. Sam tapped the side of his nose with a finger, and Dean made a mental note to pass him an extra piece of pie later. Sammy always had his back.

Cas caught Dean's eye and gave him a slow wink and Dean's heart skittered frantically in his chest. He grinned, feeling suddenly euphoric. Now if he could just survive whatever Gabriel was sure to throw at him, this might count as the best Thanksgiving ever. First, though, he was going to go sneak a piece of that pie. He figured he had earned it.

...

Gabriel, as it turned out, threw quite the wrench into Dean's _best Thanksgiving ever _plans. Thanksgiving Day brought with it a snowstorm of colossal proportions, the slate grey sky finally collapsing in a torrent of fluffy white. Later, Dean would gripe that for a guy who had grown up in Maine, Gabe had shown shockingly little sense about the wisdom of driving across the state in the middle of a blizzard. In a midsize rental car, no less.

Gabe had called from Mitchell, where he had stopped for gas.

"I'm less than an hour out, Deano, it'll be fine."

Dean could hear the rustle of a candy bar wrapper. "You know, I promise we saved some turkey for you. You don't have to spoil your dinner."

"Shut up, asshole. I'm starving. Damn hotel breakfast was a continental," Gabe complained. "Just keep the fire cranked, I'm going to be coming in pretty damn frozen. I can't see five feet in front of me out here."

Dean gave him directions off of I-90 and told him to be careful.

Two hours later, no Gabe.

Cas dialed again, getting Gabe's voicemail. "Maybe we should call the highway patrol." The last text message they had received, Gabe speculated he was between five and ten miles away.

Bobby grunted. "They'll just call me or one of the other search and rescue teams." He looked evenly at Dean. "How rusty are your snowmobile skills, son?"

Dean tilted his head and whistled through his teeth. "Pretty rusty, I imagine, but I'll manage." He crossed to the foyer and began pulling gear from the closet.

Sam followed him. "I'm coming, too."

"What're you talking about, what snowmobile?" Cas' voice was deep with concern as he watched the proceedings and Ellen sat down beside him, perching on the arm of the couch.

"They'll go get him, Cas. Don't worry," she smiled encouragingly. "Dean and Sam have been doing search and rescue since they were teenagers." She stood. "Joanna, come help me fix up a pack."

Dean and Sam went into the spare bedroom and redressed from the inside out, adding an additional layer of insulating undergarments and a waterproof base layer. They carried the rest of their gear to the door. Dean was zipping his down parka and pulling a Polartec balaclava over his head when Ellen and Jo returned with a supply pack.

Cas was waiting by the door, worry lines deep around his eyes. Dean tightened the wrist strap on his glove and tried to reassure him. "He's only five miles out or so. Piece of cake, Cas."

Cas nodded, biting his lip. "Be careful, Dean."

Dean grinned, cocky and sure. "You think I'm going to let a little snow keep me from Ellen's pecan pie? No worries, babe. Promise." Cas didn't seem any more convinced though, so Dean thought _fuck it,_ and pulled him into his arms in a hard hug. "I'll be right back," he whispered against Cas' neck. He avoided meeting anyone else's gaze and opened the front door. The harsh wind swirled snow into the room in a tornado of white, stealing Dean's breath. He fitted his goggles over his eyes and stepped onto the porch.

"If he calls or texts you, tell him we're on our way. And to hang something on the antenna, so we can spot him."

"He'll have already done that." Cas braced against the bitter cold. "Be careful," he said again.

...

Dean urged the snowmobile a little faster, skimming over the soft-packed snow, keeping Sam's figure in his peripheral vision. Gabe's assessment wasn't off; visibility was about five feet, so they were limited in speed. It was cold, but flying over the white powder, the world hushed and still, was exhilarating. Dean had missed this. They stuck to the highway, as best they could tell; luckily the terrain was flat enough that there weren't any sudden dips or ditches to worry about.

They found him about thirty minutes later, the small rental car a mound of white. They might have missed it altogether, mistaking it for a large drift, but for the scrap of bright red flapping vigorously in the wind. When Dean used a scraper to whisk the snow and ice from the driver's window, he had to laugh at Gabe's expression behind the tempered glass. He and Sam worked fast, shoveling until they were able to pry the door open.

Gabe gasped when the cold hit him in the face. "Dean, I've never been so glad to see your ugly mug in all my life."

"You owe me, shortstack." Dean grabbed a water bottle from his pack and passed it to Gabe, while Sam retrieved a fleece jacket, a balaclava, and a pair of gloves. Once Gabe was bundled up as best they could manage, he climbed on the back of Sam's snowmobile.

"What are you doing," Dean asked in amusement.

Gabe shrugged. "He's a walking, talking underwear model, dumbass. Plus, you screw my brother."

Dean thought Sam was probably blushing underneath his face mask, if the way he ducked his head in embarrassment was any indication. Dean smiled behind the warm fleece covering the lower half of his face and waved for them to take the lead.

...

Gabe didn't let anyone fuss for too long, stamping his feet in front of the fire and trading sarcastic puns with Bobby. Twice, he rendered the crotchety mechanic speechless, as Dean looked on in admiration. Sam, it seemed, was the least taken with the witty chef, and he watched him uneasily from his seat next to Jo. Dean laughed to himself. Leave it to Gabe to thoroughly unsettle staid, predictable Sam. Dean was seventy-five percent sure Gabe was giving Sam those smoldering looks from underneath his lashes to fuck with him, but then again, it _was_ Gabe. So who knew, really.

Once they were seated around the kitchen table, Bobby carving the turkey into generous slices, Dean found himself on the receiving end of his own smoldering looks, thanks to a still highly grateful Cas. Earlier, when they had made it back safe and sound, Cas had dragged a half-frozen Dean to the spare bedroom and kissed him senseless, stripping his headgear off with enough force to chafe Dean's ears. Dean smiled, remembering the hot press of lips and tongue against his own, raw and sensitive from the cold.

Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out, frowning. Practically everyone he knew was sitting at the table with him.

**_Gabe: _**_Stop eyefucking._

Dean snorted. _Bite me, _he typed back.

"Dean Winchester," Bobby yelled from the end of the table. "Put your goddamn phone away."

"Bobby Singer," Ellen shouted back from the opposite end. "Don't say goddamn at the dinner table in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner!"

"For the love of _Pete," _Jo complained. "Can we have one meal where no one is shouting? It's a holiday!"

"Honey," Sam began soothingly, then winced when she smacked him on the back of his hand with a serving spoon.

Dean met Cas' eyes over a heaping stoneware bowl of mashed potatoes and grinned. This really _had_ turned into the best Thanksgiving ever, after all.

...

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness, sated from a combination of turkey coma and the excitement of the day. There was a fire burning in the fireplace and he was already tucked under the blankets on the pull out couch. He finally let sleep claim him, to the lull of Sam and Cas' voices as they talked quietly.

"How much has Dean told you about Lisa and Ben," Sam asked softly, glancing at his brother's sleeping form.

Cas shook his head. "Only that he lived with them for a time, when he was in his late twenties. That he almost married her."

Sam looked over at Dean again, but found his chest rising and falling in a steady pattern; he decided to it was worth the risk and began to talk. "Dean and Lisa dated, briefly, and then she basically disappeared. She was a flighty thing. Beautiful," he grinned, "but flighty. She showed up a few months later on our doorstep, pregnant."

Sam acknowledged Cas' raised eyebrow with a nod. "Yeah. Big time freakout ensued at casa Winchester." He chuckled. "Dad was ballistic. I've never seen him so rattled, honestly. It's probably why Dean fell right into the role of husband and father so fast. He never could bear for Dad to be disappointed in him." Sam's voice softened again, remembering. "He loved that baby, though."

"What happened," Cas asked quietly.

Sam sighed. "A different boyfriend came calling one day, demanding a paternity test. He was the father." He shook his head. "Dean was a mess. I'd never seen him so broken. But he stepped aside, walked away."

They drank in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the faint tick of snow hitting the glass windowpanes.

Sam studied Cas in the firelight thoughtfully. "You know, I could see the moment he saw you, that first night, there was something there."

Cas smiled to himself, slowly peeling the label from his bottle of beer. "Yeah?" He laughed softly. "You could have fooled me. He barely paid me any mind."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong," Sam chuckled. "He got at least four orders wrong that night, and Dean _never_ does that. I've never met a harder, more conscientious worker. No matter how much bluster he tries to hide under." Sam's voice was fond.

"I almost didn't come back," Cas admitted.

"Wow," Sam said, sitting up straighter. "I didn't know that. What made you change your mind?"

Cas turned the label upside down and pressed it carefully back into the condensation on his bottle. He used a thumbnail to work out any air bubbles. "I couldn't stop thinking about him," he said finally, with a rueful expression. "I fell sort of hard. And fast."

Sam nodded. So had Dean, even if he had fought it for a time. "I thought for a long time that Lisa was the love of Dean's life. Until he met you."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas said, eyes tender in the firelight.

"No problem, Cas. What are brothers, for?"

...


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's note:**__ This one had to happen. I love you all for reviewing...you're the fuel behind this story, the little fic that could._

Cas was shivering from the cold when he slipped under the blankets, and he burrowed close to Dean.

"Mmm," Dean grumbled against his pillow. "Hands are cold."

Cas tucked his nose in the back of Dean's neck, and Dean felt icy lips brush his skin. "Sorry," Cas whispered. He moved to withdraw his hand from Dean's waist, but Dean caught it and pulled it flat against his chest. Cas relaxed against him again, plastering himself against Dean's warm back.

"Be still," Dean whispered.

Cas' soft laugh feathered the hairs at his nape and Dean shivered involuntarily. He noted the fine tremor in the other man's body and turned to look over his shoulder. "Are you cold?"

"Mmm hmmm." Cas' face was still buried against Dean's back, so Dean carefully rolled over to face him. He rubbed Cas' arms under the blankets for warmth, pulling him to his chest and wrapping around him.

"You should have gotten in bed earlier instead of girl talking with Sam half the night," Dean chided. He rubbed soothing circles on Cas' back, tangling their legs together, Cas' cold toes nestling into the warmth of Dean's calves.

"I like Sam."

"Hmph." Dean could feel the trembling subside and he let his hands roam lower, pulling Cas' hips flush against him. "I like you." He nosed at Cas' temple and Cas obliged, raising his lips to Dean's. He lingered there, a lazy press of lips that moved sensually over Dean's, igniting a warm fire in his belly. Dean dipped his hands below the waistband of Cas' pajama pants and squeezed his firm cheeks.

Cas exhaled against him. "Damn you for being so hot."

Dean huffed a laugh. "But isn't that why you just climbed all over me with your cold hands and nose?"

Cas drew Dean's lower lip between his teeth, then sucked on the sting in apology before plunging his tongue into Dean's mouth and kissing him. Dean slid his hands up under Cas' t-shirt, pushing his fingertips deep into the tender muscles aligning his spine. Their mouths broke apart when Cas gasped, throwing his head back as Dean hit a knot of tension. Dean lowered his mouth to suck gently against the skin under his jaw, kneading the sore spot in his back with his knuckles until he felt the muscle release. He pushed Cas into the mattress and rolled on top of him, dragging Cas' hands to lie against the pillow, lips attaching to his neck again.

Cas wedged a knee between Dean's and rocked up into his hardness. Dean hissed and linked their fingers, riding Cas' knee while he looked down at him in the dark. He bent to lick Cas' lips, pulling back before Cas could kiss him and smiling when he grunted in frustration.

Cas lowered his knee and Dean frowned. "Hey," he breathed, pout in his voice.

Cas struggled half-heartedly to remove Dean's hold on his hands. "Dean," he whined.

Dean dipped his head again and kissed him lingeringly. Cas wiggled beneath him until he had their respective hardness aligned and Dean moaned into the kiss. "You realize we're about two minutes from having dirty sex in Bobby and Ellen's living room," he whispered, his breath too fast.

"You started it," Cas whispered back.

"No I didn't, you woke _me_ up," Dean whispered indignantly. He rocked against Cas suggestively, liking the way Cas bit his lip to hold back a moan.

"Are you," Cas gasped again when Dean nibbled at the soft skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Are you saying you don't want to?"

Dean released one of Cas' hands, dragging it down until it cupped against him. "Does this feel like I don't want to?"

"Roll over," Cas pushed against his chest, and Dean, surprised, complied.

"Hey," Dean complained when Cas rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He returned a minute later with a towel. Dean smiled broadly. "I love you."

"Yeah, you do," Cas whispered, shivering again as he slid in beside Dean. "As you were, Captain."

Dean made such quick work of Cas' pants and boxers, Cas' laugh rang out and Dean had to cover his mouth with his own, swallowing the sound. "You want to wake up the whole house," he teased breathlessly. He rested his forehead against Cas' to steady himself; Cas naked under him was overwhelming sometimes. He leaned up on an elbow so he could watch as his fingers traced down Cas' sternum, dipping into his navel and then lower, skating across his hardness, sliding down the length of him, then back up, grazing the tip once, twice.

"Dean," Cas whispered, head thrown back in ecstasy, "_fuck."_

Dean kissed the skin over Cas' heart, and began to stroke him in long, slow movements. "So gorgeous," he whispered, watching his fingers circle the head of Cas' cock on each upstroke. "Do you know what I want?"

When Cas didn't answer right away, Dean stilled his hand. "Cas," he prodded, nibbling against his chest.

Cas' eyes blinked open and Dean thought to himself, a person could get lost in a blue that deep.

"What do you want, Dean," Cas rasped, hips shifting restlessly against Dean's hand.

Cas whimpered in protest when Dean's hand left him. Dean leaned away to push his pants and boxers to his knees, kicking them off and to the end of the bed somewhere under the covers. Cas eagerly pulled him back, holding his face between his hands, kissing him deep and hot and long. Dean's aligned their cocks in one fist, and began to stroke them together.

"Jesus, Cas," he whispered, dropping a kiss on the side of his mouth, resting against his cheek. "Feels so good."

Cas closed one hand around Dean's, chasing the skin Dean' couldn't reach, guiding him when Dean's movements began to stutter as he lost control. He tugged on Dean's hair with his free hand, bringing his mouth up to his.

"What do you want, Dean?"

Dean teetered on the precipice, his orgasm barreling through him, suffusing him with a white-hot heat. "You, Cas," he gasped against his mouth, jaw clenching as he spilled over their joined hands. "Always, you."

Cas followed him over the edge a few moments later, Dean batting his hand away so he could milk the last ounce of pleasure from him, until Cas lay boneless against him.

Dean flopped onto his back, wiping the stickiness off of his fingers on the sheet. "You forgot about the towel," he accused sleepily.

"No, _you_ forgot about the towel," Cas mumbled against Dean's shoulder.

"I didn't see you stopping me."

"Stopping you isn't my first response when your hand is on my dick, Dean."

Dean chuckled. "Touché."

He waited a beat, then: "Hey, Cas?"

"Hmmm," Cas snuggled closer and Dean thought sleepily that one of them should really clean up before they fell asleep like this.

"I love you."

Dean felt Cas' lips curve against his arm in a smile. "Love you, too. Now find the towel."

Dean sighed, but rolled out of bed to comply, even redressing them before snuggling back under the blankets. No sense in scandalizing everyone in the morning.

"Cas?"

"Dean."

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas' waist and squeezed. "Thank you for coming."

Dean was almost asleep when Cas whispered, "Was that a pun?"

He snorted and buried his face in Cas' hair contentedly. "Night, Cas."

...

_It was absolutely true, Dean would reflect much later, how the majority of people never thought it would happen to them. They read about disasters and tragedies in the newspaper, or sat glued to the television, horrified but removed. Distant. Terrible things were always remote, never touching most people's lives. _

_Dean was not most people._

...

Sam scanned the bar, nodding at Jo when she caught his eye. "Dean," he mouthed in question.

Jo inclined her head toward the kitchen, brow furrowing at Sam's solemn expression. Sam pushed through the kitchen door, calling his brother's name.

"In here." Dean's voice was muffled over the roar of the freezer fan. He appeared seconds later slamming the cooler door shut behind him. "God_damn,_ it's cold in there." He rubbed his hands together, bringing them to his lips to blow warmth over his frozen fingers. He stilled when he saw Sam's face. "What."

"Where's your phone?" Sam's face was pinched, serious, and Dean's gut dropped. Dread sank into his bones.

"I forgot it at home this morning. What's going on, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, mouth opening and closing. He stepped forward to grip Dean's arm. "Cas has been in an accident."

Dean's ears buzzed, all of the sound leeching from the room until there was only the roar of the blood in his veins as it rushed to his head. He felt Sam's fingers tighten around his bicep and he winced. "Where is he?" Dean was shocked at how normal his voice sounded, steady, strong. He shook Sam's arm off, looking to the kitchen door when Jo stepped through. She whitened at their faces.

"What is it?"

Dean shook his head, unable to answer her, head reeling. His phone. _His goddamn phone_. He hadn't spoken to Cas since this morning, when he had kissed him goodbye at the door, a slow, lazy play of tongues and lips, as if they had all the time in the world.

They were supposed to have all the time in the world.

Sam stepped back into Dean's vision, blocking him from the kitchen door. "He's at Mercy Hospital. He was on the interstate, there was a ten-car pileup. A semi jackknifed. Gabriel called my office when he couldn't get you on your cell," Sam paused, sorrow in his eyes. "Dean, it's...it's not good."

"I'm going," Dean said, shoving past him, not wanting to hear more.

"I'll drive." Jo reached for the keys and goddamn Dean's rotten life but they were both blocking the kitchen door now, and he was desperate, frantic to get to Cas. He thrust the keys at her.

"Close the bar, Sammy." Dean was out of the kitchen and across the bar in seconds, finally in motion, propelled forward by fear.

Sam pulled Jo into a quick embrace. "Drive careful. I'll be there as soon as I can."

...

Dean was gritting his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He knew Jo was driving as fast as she could safely do so, but nothing was fast enough. The minutes ticked by and with each passing one, Dean wondered if it was the last, if this was Cas' last breath, his last heartbeat. Was he awake? Did he call for Dean? What if this really was it? And why was Dean so shocked? When had anything good in his life ever stuck, _ever_?

What if Dean had missed the chance to say goodbye, to tell Cas one more time that he loved him. His stomach lurched, hard. "I'm going to be sick," he mumbled, bending over at the waist.

Jo pulled over quickly and Dean scrambled to open the door, retching into the ditch. He felt her warm hand in the center of his back, rubbing. Wiping his mouth, disgusted that he had wasted yet another precious minute he slammed back into the car. "Go, I'm fine."

Jo nodded, a tear dropping off of her chin. "Dean-"

"Go, Jo. Just drive."

They were held up when they arrived at the hospital because of lack of information, and Dean's shirt was damp with a cold sweat by the time the front desk was able to direct them to the ICU. They got no further than the waiting area, but Gabe was there and he stood when Dean pushed through the door.

"Take a breath," Gabe said low, gripping Dean's elbows.

"How is he?" Dean wanted to fling Gabe aside and barrel through the vacuum-sealed doors in front of him, but another part of him, a part he hated, wanted to go home and hide from this, pretend he wasn't here and this wasn't happening. His vision swam and he swiped at his eyes, fingers coming away wet.

"He's in surgery." Gabe squeezed Dean's arms one more time and then stepped back, seemingly satisfied that Dean could take whatever it was he needed to tell him. "He's in critical condition, a head injury. They needed to relieve some of the pressure, swelling, on his brain."

"Did you get to talk to him," Dean asked.

But Gabe was already shaking his head. "He never regained consciousness. They had to cut him out of his car."

Dean winced and the room tilted. He felt their hands on him, Jo's and Gabe's, directing him to a chair. The waiting room was tiny; two hard, pleather-covered side chairs and a small couch the only seating available. Dean dropped onto the seat and held his head in his hands, willing his stomach to stop rolling before he was sick again.

The hours passed excruciatingly slow. Sam came as soon as he got the bar closed down, his soothing, calm presence comforting Dean's nerves. Jo pressed Styrofoam cups of coffee into Dean's hand at regular intervals, and it was late when Sam told her she should go home, get some rest.

"I'm not leaving until the doctor comes out," she said stubbornly, curling against Sam's side on the tiny couch.

"Babe-"

"No." Jo's voice was firm and Dean's eyes flicked up, watching a silent conversation take place between them. She caught Dean's eye. "I want to be here when Cas wakes up."

Dean smiled weakly and dropped his face into his palms, elbows resting on his knees. _Please, God, _he thought, but there was no other prayer available to him. He hadn't prayed in years; he wouldn't know how to start. So he repeated those two words, chanting them at intervals, when he felt the weakest. He stood, when his muscles got stiff from sitting too long, and paced the small room. The wall-mounted television was playing a Christmas movie, the sound on mute. It would be Christmas soon, Dean realized.

Gabe had left to update his siblings, no one else having shown up at the hospital. Dean couldn't imagine leaving Sammy lying in a hospital bed somewhere, not knowing from one moment to the next whether he would-

Dean mentally crashed to a halt. He refocused instead, quickly, on Bobby and Ellen, how Ellen had fussed over Cas when they left after Thanksgiving, two days later than planned because of the blizzard; how she had insisted he come back with Dean in the spring so they could tinker in the garage. Bobby had gruffly insisted Cas at least _look_ at one of the old classics he had waiting for restoration. "No sense you driving that foreign piece of crap if I have something dependable and American right here. Just needs a little TLC, that's all."

Dean had already checked the calendar at work and picked a week that would work.

The breaking seal of the vacuum snapped Dean to attention and he turned to the door. A white-coated figure pushed through the door. "Gabriel Novak?"

"Here." Gabe stepped through the waiting room door, shoving his phone in his pocket. Sam and Jo clambered off of the couch.

Dean braced one hand on the wall and held his breath.

The doctor glanced perfunctorily at Dean and leaned his head low to Gabe's. "He's stable. We'll keep him sedated for the next several hours."

"How," Gabe's voice was shaky and he cleared his throat. Dean stepped forward, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. "How long before he wakes up?"

The doctor was shaking his head, lowering Cas' chart, eyes darting from Dean's face to Sam's, then back to Gabe's, his face closing off, mind moving to the next patient, the next surgery. "We won't know until we wean him off of the sedation." He backed up two steps and hit a large red call button on the wall by the door. Dean had never noticed it there. "You can have ten minutes with him." His eyes flicked to Dean and held. "Family only."

...

Gabriel listed Dean as "brother-in-law" on the visitor form. There were only four spots, and Dean stopped him before he could add Jo and Sam's names to the remaining lines.

"Anna, Lucifer," Dean said low. "They'll come, they'll want to see him."

Gabe studied him with tired eyes but laid down the pen.

The waiting nurse pursed her lips throughout the exchange. "Driver's license."

Dean's hands were trembling as he fumbled his license out of the plastic window in his wallet. He watched her record the number on the form beside his name. She tossed the pen aside when finished and he flinched at the loud sound it made when it clanged against a stainless steel coffee mug.

She directed them to a sink on the wall. "Three minute handwash." She pointed to the timer. "Start this as soon as you begin. Don't stop until it goes off." She handed each of them a sterile-wrapped rubber and foam brush. Dean's hands were shaking hard as he tried to open the plastic cover, and her fingers, warm and soft covered his. He met her eyes and for the first time, her face softened. "You'll have to gown up when you're done," she said, voice gentle. She moved away and retrieved two cotton coverups from a cabinet behind her.

When they were both tied into the hospital gowns, she pushed another release button and the next set of doors _whooshed_ open.

"Second room on the left. You have ten minutes."

Dean let Gabe lead, nauseous, nerves and worry seeping into his bones until they ached with tension.

It was still, dark and quiet in the room and it took Dean's eyes a moment to adjust, to focus on the bed. Cas' dark head lay in stark contrast against the pale bedding. His hair had been partially shaved and white gauze padding covered the left side of his scalp. A collapsible tube was taped to his cheek, a coil of ribbed plastic pulling his mouth open at the corner where it pumped oxygen into his lungs in time to the beep of the machine beside him.

Shock made Dean lightheaded and he clenched his fists. Gabe stood frozen in place, expression dazed. Dean swallowed a sudden urgency, the press of time looming, and he pushed Gabe aside gently. He wouldn't waste one moment. He crossed to the bed and lowered himself into the chair at the edge, hesitantly touching Cas' hand where it lay against the sheet. A clamp was fastened to his index finger, a thin, tan tube snaking back to one of the sockets on the machine. Oxygen reading, Dean thought, remembering his dad in a similar bed.

Cas' hand was warm. He was so deathly still, Dean had had a crazy, irrational fear he would be cool to the touch, and it was reassuring, the heat of his skin. He squeezed the fingers in his and watched the pale face.

Cas never moved, apart from the manual rise and fall of his chest. His eyelids were motionless; they didn't flicker, dreams behind them, the way they did sometimes at night when Dean would like awake, watching him sleep. Each collapse of false breath mimicked the vacuum seal sound of the entry to ICU.

Dean didn't know why he noticed that.

He knew he should move, step aside, let Gabriel take the seat, but it was _ten minutes. _ Ten brief, short minutes before they had to leave and Dean, selfishly, wouldn't give them up, not a single one. He held Cas' hand, eyes never leaving his face, until a nurse stepped in and quietly murmured, "Time."

Dean stood, leaning over the bed, carefully avoiding the tangle of wires and tubes, brushing his lips across a slip of bare forehead. He hovered there, memorizing the curve of dark lashline against pale skin, willing those eyes to flutter open.

"Dean," Gabe whispered from the doorway.

Walking out of that room was the hardest thing Dean had ever done. When he stepped back through the double doors into the waiting room, he let Sam drag him into his arms and held on tight, breathing his familiar scent until his violent shaking calmed.

...


	16. Chapter 16

**_Author's Note: _**_I am overwhelmed by your reviews. Thank you for loving my Dean and Cas. I can only promise that I love them too._

...

Dean lived in ten minute increments. He could only breathe when he was at Cas' bedside. When he wasn't, his chest was too tight, his head hurt, and his heart ached with a throbbing fear so profound he was left staring senselessly at the mosaic pattern of the linoleum tiles lining the floor at his feet in the waiting room. In those brief moments he sat at Cas' side, he imagined he could feel him, a tenuous thread, a filament of longing and love that still tethered them together. Dean clung to it.

Cas slept.

On the second day they removed the breathing tube. Cas' lips were chapped and dry, but Dean brushed his own against them, as soon as the nurse left the room, greedily absorbing the air as it left Cas' lungs on its own. He laid his forehead on the still chest, closing his eyes and willing his heart to sync with the steady, rhythmic beats underneath. There was a young nurse who watched him with sad eyes when she checked the monitors, who would let him stay longer than the allotted ten minutes if she was on shift. She pretended not to see him, tucked into the corner, when Anna and Lucifer were led through the door, their hushed, sad expressions nearly more than Dean could bear.

They held hands, clinging to each other as they stood at Cas' bedside, staring down at him in silence. Lucifer nodded to Dean when he left, his only acknowledgement of Dean's presence in the room. Anna pulled the chair closer to the head of the bed and bowed her head over Cas, a beaded rosary hanging from her clasped hands, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Dean watched from the corner, uncomfortable to witness such a private moment, but unwilling to leave, every second he was allowed to have too precious to step away from.

He hoped the God Anna prayed to was listening.

The shift change happened before Anna's minutes were over and the older, more obstinate nurse came on duty. She was tall and broad with beautiful mahogany skin, and she wore a starched white dress, not the cheerful, relaxed scrubs of the younger nurses. Dean would be terrified of her, if he had the energy, but he was also grateful for her. He could tell she was the most competent, the most experienced; she bled efficiency. Staunch rule-follower or not, Dean wanted her on Cas' team of caregivers. She spotted him in the corner immediately and told him in a low voice to return to the waiting room. "You're time is up, Mr. Winchester," she sniffed.

Dean thought of Beth, the younger nurse, who had encouraged him to touch Cas, to whisper to him, that he could still hear and feel, that he would know Dean was there. That his heart rate was steadier, his breathing smoother, when Dean was with him. "The monitors don't lie, Dean," she had whispered sweetly. But he let this one, Irene, her nametag read, shuffle him from the room, no strength left to argue, and he collapsed on the waiting room couch.

His head was pounding and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Jo and Sam were gone, temporarily, Gabe too. Everyone had lives to put in order, jobs and people that depended on them.

Dean couldn't make himself care about the world outside these few rooms.

There were no windows in the waiting room and Dean realized he had no idea what time it was, if it was day or night. The double doors swung open and Anna crossed to the couch, sitting next to him. Dean could see her eyes were red, the tip of her nose pink, and her bright red hair hung in limp curls against her dark wool coat.

"When we were little, he used to push me on the swing," she said softly. "The others, they were always too busy, too bossy. Even Gabriel, he never had time for me. They thought I was useless because I was a girl."

Dean watched her shred a tissue, letting the pieces drift across her lap.

"Castiel was, for a while anyway, closer to me than to any of them."

Dean could hear a bitter fierceness in her voice.

"We had a secret place, where we would hide from the nanny, where she was never able to find us when it was time for baths or supper." She laughed, a cold, sad sound that clenched Dean's heart in his chest. "She didn't look very hard, I'm sure, as it wasn't terribly original. We were under the stairs, where a loose board could be pried away just enough for two small children to sneak under." She leaned into Dean's side, seeking warmth, or another body, another someone who loved Cas. "It was dirty and there were spiders, but I loved it. We would hide from the bigger boys, and he would tell me stories. I don't know how they found us, but they did, eventually. Michael told father and he had our secret place nailed shut." She smiled mournfully at Dean. "Castiel didn't play with me after that."

Dean reached over and took her hand, holding it tight. They sat in silence until Lucifer returned for her. Dean could smell cigarettes on his clothes and it triggered an intense craving for the hit of soothing nicotine; Dean hadn't smoked in years, not since he was a teenager.

Anna stood to leave, leaning over to kiss Dean on his temple, her breath hitching. "God be with you, Dean."

...

Dean dutifully pressed the call button when it was time for his next visit. He had timed this one to fall precisely at 5:55 p.m., waiting, staring at the clock in the corner of a television news program, willing it to move faster.

Beth had let slip earlier that if he happened to be _in_ ICU at 6:00 p.m., it was possible he would be allowed to stay until 8:00 p.m., those two hours strictly reserved for a nurse's meeting and paperwork filing. No other visitors were allowed into or out of the ICU during that timeframe. Sometimes, she had whispered, they would allow family to remain in the room, with the understanding they would not be able to leave.

Dean didn't want to ever leave.

Irene was the nurse who dutifully checked his driver's license against Cas' visitor form. Dean bit his tongue, wanting to scream at her, _You've seen me, for forty-eight hours straight, Irene, you don't need to check my fucking ID! _But he returned her stare unflinchingly, then scrubbed his hands viciously for the entire three minutes at the sink, knuckles raw and red. When she tied the neckties of his gown around his throat she bent close to his ear.

"I know what you're trying to do, Mr. Winchester, coming in right before staff meeting."

Dean slid his gaze to her stern face as she hit the door release, but she didn't say anything more, just returned to her seat behind the desk and began to scratch across her paperwork with an old-fashioned fountain pen. "Well, go on with you then," she said, not looking up.

Dean's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn't wait for her to change her mind. Maybe old Irene had a heart after all.

He took his place next to Cas and held his hand, lacing their fingers. Beth, probably, had moved the O2 saturation monitor to the opposite side, to Cas' left index finger. Dean used his free hand to trace the shape of Cas' jaw, his eyebrows, feel the silky softness of his lashes. Other than a few pinprick cuts dotting his left cheekbone, Cas had been outwardly unscathed in the accident; all damage was confined to the inside. The surgery had apparently been a success, however, and the surgeon had stopped by earlier to report he might be able to remove the shunt by the weekend if Cas continued to improve.

Dean's stomach growled and he wondered what Sam would bring him to eat later. He hadn't been hungry enough to eat more than a partial sandwich or crackers Jo had brought up from the hospital cafeteria. He thought the last thing he had eaten was a Poptart Sam had shoved in his hand earlier that morning, or was it the evening before? Heavy, padded footsteps approached, alerting him to Irene's presence before she appeared at the bedside, recording numbers perfunctorily on the chart she held in her hands. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a banana and a granola bar, silently placing them on the side table.

Dean looked up to find her dark eyes on his hand, entwined with Cas'.

"If I brought you a Coca-cola, would you drink it," she asked gruffly, the sound booming in the hushed quiet.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Dean croaked, voice rough from disuse.

"You should talk to him," she said, turning on her squeaky nurse shoes and padding back out into the corridor.

Dean stared at the doorway, mouth open.

Irene returned a few minutes later, setting a can of Coke and a glass of ice on the tray table. Dean felt self-conscious; he was in the middle of telling Cas about Anna's visit, and Lucifer, and how Sam had brought him a piece of pie the day before, coconut cream, from the hospital cafeteria but Dean couldn't eat it, he was so sick with worry. His cheeks flushed, but he kept talking and Irene paid him no mind, dropping a folded blanket and pillow onto the small couch against the wall before leaving again.

His eyes pricked, hot tears burning behind his eyelids, and he leaned close to Cas' cheek, aching with the familiarity of the stubbled jaw, breathing the words into his skin, "Come on, baby, wake up. Open your eyes."

...

Dean must have fallen asleep; he woke with his face mashed into the crook of his arm on the edge of Cas' bed. He winced, a massive crick in his neck as he rolled it, trying to loosen the tight soreness. He wondered what time it was; unfortunately, his phone had long since died and there was no clock in this room. He glanced at Cas, and startled to find him staring back, lids at half-mast.

"Cas," he breathed, standing, knees and back popping painfully in his haste. He cupped Cas' face gently in his trembling fingers. "Hey."

One corner of that beautiful mouth lifted, a ghost of a smile, blue eyes dull but blessedly open. "I thought you were a dream," he managed to whisper, before his eyelids fluttered closed again.

"Cas?" Dean stroked his cheek but he was out again. Dean laid his head on his chest and breathed deep, relief easing gently over him, tempering the fear and worry that had consumed him for three days.

...

There were tests, MRI's and CT scans, copious amounts of blood work, a flurry of activity in and out of the small room until Dean was forced back into the waiting room for the next several hours. Then he was hampered by Gabe, Anna, Lucifer, Cas' mother. Michael. They were all there, and Dean lost his spot at Cas' bedside for the better part of a day. He struggled under an agonizing frustration, wanting them all out, gone. He needed to see it again, the open eyes and the sound of his voice. Cas was awake, but Dean needed to see for himself, to know that finally, it was true.

It was not the truth he wanted, when he got it.

"Dean," Gabe broke into his reverie, as Dean stared blankly at a months-old Sports Illustrated. Sam tensed beside him and Dean started to stand, but Gabe waved them back into their seats.

"How is he?" Dean tried to read Gabe's expression. The intense fear and anxiety that had been creasing Cas' brother's face for two days had been replaced with a tired sort of joy, but there was something new too. Dean's neck prickled in alarm.

"He's awake, talking a little." Gabe sat down in one of the chairs wearily. "This has been a week, hasn't it?"

Dean had no use for small talk. His body was coiled tight with apprehension, and he had been unable to see Cas for hours. He was a cobra, ready to strike, but Gabe could see that and held up his hand.

"Wait, okay? Just give me a minute."

Dean waited, disquiet settling over his heart.

"He's," Gabe paused. "He's talking. He doesn't remember the accident." He swallowed and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "He's not remembering much, actually. Not in the right order at least."

"What do you mean," Dean asked, low. Sam gripped his arm. "I want to see him."

Gabe nodded. "I think you should, I think it will help."

"Help what," Dean bit out, frustrated at Gabe for talking in circles, but he didn't want to know the answer, not really. He couldn't breathe again; how many times, how many days could he go without breathing fully, with lungs so shallow they burned.

Gabe leaned forward slightly in his seat, voice blunt and quick when he spoke. "He doesn't remember you, Dean. He doesn't remember much about the past year."

Dean stood. "I want to see him." This was not happening. _This was not happening. _He exchanged a glance with Sam.

Gabe nodded with a sympathy Dean hated, his eyes glassy. "Take a minute, Dean, okay? He's pretty out of it. You're just going to upset him if you go in there looking like a crazy man."

Dean resisted the urge to punch him in the mouth, realizing there was probably a grain of truth to his statement. He raked his hands through his hair. Sam still held his arm, rock steady at his side.

"What does he remember," Sam's voice was a soothing, low rumble.

"He knows I work at the Kill Devil Club, which only happened in the past six months, but he doesn't remember starting the dig in Lawrence." Gabe frowned. "He knows Anna is engaged, but he doesn't remember to who. It's, it's all fractured. In pieces. He knows your name," he said, meeting Dean's gaze unflinchingly. "But he didn't understand why you would want to see him when I said you were outside in the waiting room."

Dean had heard enough. He shoved Sam's hand off of his arm and walked to the double doors, punching the call button to scrub in.

...

Irene had cleared the room. Dean didn't know how, he hadn't passed Anna or Cas' mother, no one in the corridor, but when he stepped over the threshold, the room was empty save for the prone occupant of the hospital bed.

He cleared his throat softly, and Cas' eyes blinked open sleepily. They stared at each other from across the small room, Dean's heart racing, suddenly nervous, and God help him but he was ecstatic at the picture Cas made lying there, awake. Awake.

"Hey, Cas."

Cas' brow wrinkled slightly and Dean could see him struggle to sit up in the bed. Dean crossed the room quickly, pressing him back into the mattress. "Easy, take it easy," he murmured.

Dean watched something flicker in his eyes, and then it was gone, wisping away, and Cas frowned again, staring down at Dean's hand, still clutching his arm.

Dean released him, wiping his hands nervously on his jeans. He sat in the chair and let Cas study him. It was okay; Dean wanted to study him too. His head was a little lopsided, partially shaved, still sporting a large bandage on one side. But his eyes were clearer than they had been earlier, and his cheeks were faintly tinted in pink. His lips seemed slightly fuller, too, less dry.

Dean licked his lips and Cas' eyes tracked the movement.

"How are you feeling," Dean asked and winced when his voice seemed too loud in the tiny space.

Cas' mouth worked and his brow furrowed again; Dean wondered if he was not answering because Dean was unfamiliar or because he couldn't find the words.

"I'm," Cas swallowed, then gestured to the side table, to a glass of ice chips. Dean used the Styrofoam pitcher to pour a half a cup of water and brought it to Cas' lips. The water trembled in tiny waves against the rim of the cup; Dean's hands were shaking. Cas reached up to place one palm around Dean's, holding the cup steady so he could take a drink.

"One of us is shook up," Dean joked pitifully.

Cas leaned back against the pillows, and Dean could see the exhaustion lining his handsome face. Dean set the cup back on the tray and waited, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

Cas blinked his eyes open again and he searched Dean's face. "There's something about your eyes," he murmured. "I know you."

Dean's heart wrenched painfully. "Yeah, Cas, you know me," he whispered.

"Tell me what happened."

...

Dean didn't tell him everything; he left out most of the personal stuff.

He didn't mention himself at all, other than to tell him how they met.

But he told Cas about his classes at KU and about the archaeological dig outside of Lawrence. Cas' eyes flashed with recognition as Dean talked, but the pieces were so disjointed and scattered, they made no sense when he tried to talk, to puzzle it together aloud, so Dean shushed him and talked for him, filling the silence until Cas drifted off.

Dean watched him sleep, thinking of blizzards and closet organizers and Beethoven.

He was still sitting beside him with the neurologist made her rounds, late.

"Mr. Winchester?" She motioned for Dean to join her at the door, and Dean stood, squeezing Cas' hand; he had been holding it since Cas fell asleep, needing the touch of his skin. "Walk with me."

She walked Dean to a small conference room, pulling the door shut behind them with a quiet click. "Castiel's brother asked me to speak with you, relay what we know about his condition."

Dean nodded. Her face was kind, if tired; it was probably a common affliction around here, he supposed. "His memory."

She inclined her head once. "Memory is a tricky business with head injuries," she said quietly. "Most traumatic brain injury victims don't sustain lose long-term memory loss, the way you often see fictionalized." She motioned for Dean to sit in a chair and he complied. She settled across from him with a tired sigh, meeting his eyes calmly. "Cas seems to be suffering from what is known as retrograde amnesia, specifically a loss of long-term episodic memory. He can remember everything since he woke up, and seems to have a good handle on the past, up to approximately a year ago."

Dean wished for Sam. His brain was foggy and his brother was his wingman, his backup. "Will it come back?"

"Probably." The words were more confident than Dean expected and he looked at her in surprise. She shrugged and smiled. "I'm an optimist, Mr. Winchester. You kind of have to be in my line of work."

Dean grinned for the first time in what felt like days. "What else can I expect?"

She took a deep breath and Dean watched the doctor visibly rise to the surface. "He's going to recover, physically. He was very lucky. We'll remove the shunt tomorrow and he'll be moved to a private room. You might need to give him some time emotionally." She paused, seeming to search for the correct phrasing. "The memories should start to return over time, as the brain begins to heal. Probably piecemeal, and it will likely be quite confusing for him as he struggles to manage it at first. He may struggle with some short term memory as well, which is more common with the area of trauma he suffered."

She gave Dean's hands a hard squeeze and stood to go. "Stability is your friend, Dean. He needs consistency and familiarity. With time, he should make a full recovery. Even if he never regains every memory he's lost."

Dean's heart sank. "That's possible?"

She shrugged. "There's much we don't understand about the brain. He's missing a huge chunk of time. I know it's hard, but it's really a waiting game at this point." She smiled gently. "He's still Castiel, he's still in there."

...

Dean smuggled two In-and-Out burgers and two Cokes into Cas' room the next afternoon. Cas had been moved to one of the regular wings late the evening before. Dean had spent the night on a longer couch, at least, the regular waiting room more spacious and with a larger television. He had taken time this morning to run to Sam and Jo's to shower and change clothes. He couldn't face his empty house just yet.

"Hey," he said, surprised to find Cas sitting up. "You're awake."

Cas contemplated the bag in Dean's hand. "I smell hamburgers."

"Nothing wrong with your food memory, then," Dean joked, then blanched. "Um, sorry. That was probably-"

Cas chuckled. "Are you going to apologize every time you see me?"

"Do I do that," Dean asked, surprised.

"Well, technically, I guess I don't know."

It took Dean a beat, but then he snorted. "Glad to see your sense of humor didn't get knocked loose."

"You should probably unwrap that cheeseburger now, before that shrew of a nurse returns."

"Ooh, is it Irene?" Dean sat on the edge of Cas' bed and passed him one of the wrapped burgers. "I thought she was an ICU nurse."

Cas sighed happily, lifting the burger for a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, eyes carefully hooded as they watched Dean.

Dean was self-conscious under the scrutiny; he wondered what Cas remembered about him. What he would do if Dean leaned over and kissed the droplet of mustard hanging on this bottom lip, sucked it clean.

They ate the rest of their contraband in silence, then Dean took the trash and shoved it in the bottom of the wastebasket in the adjoining bathroom.

He cleared his throat, unsure if it would be appropriate for him to return to the bed or if he should sit in the only available chair. He preferred the bed, of course, because he could press his thigh against Cas, feel his warmth and vigor and _life. _But he had a feeling this Cas would protest.

_This Cas._

Dean had a sudden, fierce longing for him, for Cas, and it was unsettling because he was here, so close. Dean's head swam with a swirl of emotions and a sad loneliness that he didn't know what to do with, where to put, how to set it aside and deal with what was right in front of him. In the end he chose the chair, but Cas' voice stopped him when he went to drag it closer to the bed.

"I'm really tired."

"Oh," Dean froze. "Do you want me to go?" _But where do I go?_

"Maybe, yes." Cas was already lying back, lowering the incline on the bed. "Thank you for the burger."

Dean still couldn't read his expression.

"You're welcome. Uh," he cleared his throat again. "Get some rest." _I love you._

_I love you._

Cas turned stiffly on his side and pulled the blanket over his shoulder, effectively shutting Dean out.

Dean left the room with a new hole in his heart. He was surprised he could even feel it at this point.

...

Dean's next visit went worse, and worse was negligible at this point. He stuck his head tentatively inside the open door, the murmur of voices carrying into the hall. He stiffened when he recognized the man sitting on Cas' bed beside him.

Balthazar.

Dean stepped into the room, fury ice cold and deep coursing through him.

Balthazar looked up and his smile fell. "Dean," he said moving to stand, but Cas' hand stopped him, clutching his arm.

Dean's eyes focused on the movement, Cas' long fingers gripping Balthazar's tanned skin.

Time stood still and then Dean spoke. "Get out."

"Dean." Gabe. Dean hadn't seen him there, standing inside the room.

"Get him out of here, Gabe," Dean growled, stepping further into the room, voice barely controlled rage. Pure anguish, if you listened hard enough.

"No."

Dean stopped at the deep rasp of Cas' voice. He locked eyes with him, the blue clear and focused now.

His fingers still held Balthazar's arm.

Cas' gaze fell first and he sighed. "Gabe," he said, voice weaker.

"Come on, Deano," Gabe was in front of him now, urging him from the room. "Let's go outside for a while."

Gabe was silent on the ride down the elevator and they left the hospital together, walking the perimeter of the hospital grounds, a foot trail some wealthy benefactor had paid for, a token to alleviate the stressors of being cooped in a room with a sick or dying loved one.

Dean allowed himself to be paced around the curving path, stopping at a bench. "You know this is fucked up, man, Cas needs me," he finally said, hands fisting, begging to sink into bone, feel the give and the spurt of blood on contact when the skin split.

Gabe sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I _don't_ know, Dean. I really don't." He looked up at the hospital, hundreds of windows sparkling in the afternoon sun, pretty and cheerful when admittedly there should be little cheer here.

"Why is he here." Dean wanted someone to blame, and Gabriel seemed entirely too convenient right now. He could still feel the anger in his blood and he relished it, welcomed it. His brain was clearing, the fog lifting after days of uncertainty. He was spoiling for a fight.

"Cas asked for him."

It ripped the wind from Dean's sails and he sagged.

"Look, Dean. Here's what I _do_ know, as much as it pains me to admit it." His gaze was hard, glittering, and Dean instinctively understood that Gabe was suffering in his own way, too. "The Cas that is lying in that bed in there is still in love with Balthazar and he has no memory of you."

Dean flinched as if he'd been struck. He doubled over, he was going to be sick, one hand on the bench at his side, a fist against his sternum as pain and nausea wracked his system. He felt fingers grasp his neck, soothing, firm.

"Hold on, you're going to be okay," Gabriel murmured. He gripped Dean's neck tight one more time then moved his hand to rub his back in soothing strokes. Dean gasped for air, screwing his eyes shut tight against hot tears.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I," Gabe paused, searching for the right words. "God, I'm so fucking happy he's alive and laughing and eating cheeseburgers." He nudged Dean's shoulder, letting him know he was onto his earlier visit. "I'm trying to get him, all of us, over the next hurdle, and right now, he's happy Dean. Just," Gabe sighed and his hand fell away. "Just let him have that."

Dean knew there were tears falling but he didn't bother wiping them away.

"I almost lost my brother, Dean. All I do at this point is be thankful. I'm sorry." Gabe left Dean on the trail, still hunched over his knees, still reeling.

...


	17. Chapter 17

Dean had never been one to believe in fairytales. Even as a child, he had been obstinately intolerant of things he considered silly or nonsensical. It had to be realistic, he had to be able to put his hands on it, smell it, feel it, touch it, taste it.

On the day Dean left the hospital, he realized that Castiel was a fairytale.

Yet, even in his heartbreak, he couldn't deny that what they had shared had also been real and good and perfect. It was the most terrifyingly painful end Dean had ever faced. And he just wanted to go home.

It was physical, the sick hollowness that swept through him when he walked through the front door and knew Cas wasn't going to be there. May never be there again. Dean was exhausted, wrung out emotionally and physically, and the black, oily edges of anger were all-consuming, threatening to swallow him up.

He stood in the kitchen, losing time, ignoring Cas' coffee cup in the sink, until he grabbed a brand new bottle of Jack from the cupboard. He was a third of the way through it when Sam and Jo found him in the living room.

"What are you doing here." He sloshed a generous amount of the dark liquid into his tumbler. No ice. No water. No Coke. Just whiskey; firing down his throat, sliding into his belly, drowning the anger and the sadness, numbing him blissfully from the inside out.

Sam sank to the floor to sit beside him, long legs crossed at the ankle. "Mind if I have a drink?"

Dean perused him sidelong, then slid the tumbler to Sam and watched him take a sip. To Sam's credit, he didn't even flinch. Sam never drank whiskey.

"Jo," Dean offered, wiggling the bottle in the air.

"None for me, Dean," she said softly. Dean looked away. Her sad eyes reminded him of things he was not going to think about. Not tonight.

"We just came from the hospital," Sam started but Dean slammed his fist on the coffee table.

"No," he said, forceful, hard.

"Dean," Sam tried again.

"I said no, Sammy," Dean leaned his head back against the couch. He was so tired. "Why can't you just leave it alone and let's get sloppy drunk instead."

"We can do that," Sam said evenly. "But maybe another night, when I don't have to work tomorrow. And you should probably check in at the bar tomorrow, too."

"I don't want to think, Sam," Dean whispered, eyes closed. "I don't want to think, or feel, or, or...anything. I just want to forget." Jo curled into Dean's other side and the three of them sat in the quiet as the room darkened, the only sound the scrape of Dean's glass when he would return it to the table to await his next drink. Dean laughed softly. "We got sloppy drunk here another night, Sammy, remember? You were pissed at him, Jo, and Sam here made me play Chewie's drinking game with-" Dean stopped abruptly. He took another long drink and dropped his head.

"I remember."

Dean knew they were talking over his head in that silent way married couples seemed genetically programmed to learn, words spoken only with telling glances. He felt justified when Sam spoke. "Dean, I've got an early meeting in the morning, so I have to go, but Jo's going to stay with you tonight."

"Not necessary," Dean grumbled. He thought about dragging himself off the floor and to his bedroom, but he honestly didn't think he had either the coordination or the stomach for it right now.

"Don't be an asshole, Dean," Jo complained, but her voice was tinged with affection.

"Maybe you could give Jo that bottle too, save some for another day."

"Fuck off, Sammy."

When the room fell silent, Dean cracked open an eye. Sam clasped Dean's kneecap, giving it a hard squeeze before he hoisted himself off the floor. Dean watched as he pulled a folded square of white from his back pocket and placed it on the coffee table, next to the bottle of whiskey.

Dean knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn't want to know what lay inside the neat folds. He looked quickly away, steeling his jaw.

"That's from Cas," Sam said quietly.

Jo walked Sam to the front door, and Dean could hear their whispered goodbyes. He poured himself another drink and resolutely avoided looking at the paper square. Later, Jo made up the couch for him and tucked him in, her soft hands cool on his brow as he fought sleep, afraid of the dreams that waited there, knowing they wouldn't be happy, not tonight.

"Thanks for staying, Jo," he whispered.

"Try to sleep, Dean," Jo said softly.

...

Dean slept until noon, and woke to a pounding hangover. He was violently sick as soon as he rose, but after a shower and a cup of coffee, he decided to stop avoiding his job and drove to the bar. He needed something to do with his hands and his mind; he couldn't stay in the house alone after Jo left, and he didn't want to think about the hospital. Not yet.

He patently ignored the folded scrap of paper on the coffee table.

At Joe's, he sat at the bar, sifting through several days worth of junk mail and bills. One in particular was puzzling, a very professional-looking envelope from the bar association. He slit the flap with a knife and opened it.

_We regret to inform you..._

Joe's had been removed from the December pub crawl. No explanation. Dean didn't think he really needed one though; Dirk was a governing member. He would laugh at the irony if he had any laughter left.

Jo and Sam found him working behind the bar, shifting bottles of liquor into place, painstakingly aligning the glass edges. The bar association letter lay open and Sam picked it up and began to read. He was immediately, blisteringly, furious.

"I'm calling them. Tomorrow. This is bullshit, Dean."

Dean, weary, said, "Don't bother, Sam."

"Dean, at the very least, it's discrimination, you're a paid member—"

Dean threw the bottle he was holding across the bar, and it smashed against the wall, shattering into a million tiny diamonds of glass, the dark amber liquid seeping over the polished wood floor.

Jo began to cry.

Sam moved to go to her but Dean held up a hand, stepping in front of him and pulling Jo into his arms. "Sorry, Jo," he whispered against he top of her head. "Sorry."

...

Dean got drunk the second night, this time on tequila. He and Jo lay in the center of the dance floor after closing, while Sam pushed the dust mop around them.

Dean made Sam play _Into the Mystic_ on the jukebox four times in a row.

His phone had been silent for two days.

There had always been a hidden, secret piece of Dean who feared Cas would leave him broken and bleeding, but it was worse, _this_ was worse than anything Dean's most terrible imagination could have conjured.

"You know what I want?" he asked, knocking his head against Jo's shoulder, the tequila dulling his senses, making his neck warm and tingly.

"What?" she asked, humming along to Van Morrison under her breath.

"I want my vase back."

"You want what?"

"My vase," Dean said, turning his head to look at her. His vision swam and he blinked until he could focus. "I found a vase on Cas' fancy dig, and he has it stashed in that big old tent out there." Dean's eyes widened and he sat up. "We should go get it."

"Dean," Jo laughed, leaning up on one elbow. "That's crazy, and ten kinds of illegal. And Sam is _right here."_

Sam snorted. "Yeah, please don't forget the licensed attorney in the room."

Dean rolled to his feet. "Then it's you and me Joanna Beth. Get up."

Jo stood and looked uneasily from Dean to Sam.

Dean weaved on his feet, but his gaze was steady. "Either you drive me or I drive myself, but I'm going."

"Okay, okay," Jo sighed. "Sam," she called to Sam's retreating back. "We're not going to break into the archaeological dig and steal a priceless artifact from Cas' collection!"

"I can't hear you!" Sam shouted, now at the back of the bar. When no one answered, he peeked around the corner to find he was alone. "_Fuck."_

...

Dean was glad Jo was sober for two reasons. One, she could drive him to the dig site. And two, she could still see well enough when they arrived at said dig site, she proved invaluable in helping him avoid face-planting in one of the troweled squares of dirt.

She was also pretty handy when it came time to pick the padlock on the tent flap.

Once inside, Dean knew exactly where to find the vase; he had spent many an afternoon in this tent, watching Cas work, tempting Cas _from_ work. Dean shuttered all memories, locking them down tight, and dug the vase from its shipping box.

"It's not very big," Jo whispered.

"Why are you whispering," Dean whispered back.

Jo smacked him on the arm. "Let's go," she said in her normal voice, but she shivered, looking around the darkened tent. "This place gives me the creeps."

On the drive back to Dean's house, he cradled the vase in his palm, tracing the curved shape with a fingertip. Before he made up the couch, still not ready to face his empty bed, he set the vase on the coffee table, next to the unread note.

He turned out the lights and pulled the blankets to his chest, pillowing his cheek on his arm. He stared at the note for a long while, wishing he was drunker, and stronger, wishing Jo or Sam had stayed one more night to distract him until he was tired enough for sleep. He reached for the paper, holding it between his fingers in the moonlight from the living room window. He unfolded it slowly, peeling it open to reveal the writing inside.

_Dean,_

_I'm not sure if what I say right now will make any sense to you, it barely makes any sense to me. When I close my eyes, I see your face and it scares me. Yours is not the face I remember seeing the last time I fell asleep, but now I know that was long ago and much has changed. I don't know what to do with that. I'm sorry you were caught off guard today. I'm sorry about much of this. You didn't ask for any of this, but neither did I. I think I'll want to see you again, some day. Something tells me that you and I aren't finished with each other. I can't figure that out right now, though. It's too hard, too confusing, and I'm too tired. I hope you understand._

_Castiel_

Castiel. He hadn't been _Castiel_ to Dean in a very long time.

Dean let the paper fall, opening his fingers and watching it flutter end over end until it hit the floor.

...

The first thing Dean saw when he opened his eyes the next morning was the vase on the coffee table and he groaned. How the _hell_ was he going to get that back out to the dig site without getting caught? He laid there, forearm over his eyes, thinking about things he really shouldn't be thinking about. He sat up and grimaced. His mouth tasted foul and his head throbbed. His eyes fell on the white paper at his feet. He picked it up gingerly, folding it once so he wouldn't be tempted to see the words, read it again. He took it to the kitchen to throw it in the trash.

At the last minute, he folded it back up, carefully following the original fold lines, and tucked it into his wallet.

He called Gabe, leaning against the kitchen sink. It went straight to voicemail.

He took a shower, dressed for the day; took the trash to the curb, vacuumed the living room. He was very good at pretending normalcy until he took a load of clothes from the dryer; his laundry was full of Cas' things and it nearly broke him. He left all of it crammed into the round plastic basket. He would rather buy new shirts.

He drove to the hospital, and found Cas' room empty; Cas had been discharged. He texted Gabe, _Where is he?_

That night, Dean sat in the dark living room, sober. He stared at the vase instead of sleeping.

...

Gabe called on the fourth day; he needed to come by for some of Cas' things. When the bell rang, Dean answered it, his heart thumping in his chest, hoping Cas would be with him, that he could see him. That maybe the little house would trigger a memory, or that Cas' presence alone would alleviate the sadness that permeated the walls.

But Gabe was alone, and Dean had to leave, unable to watch his life be torn into jagged pieces so callously, so easily. When he returned much later, the house was dark and empty and Dean didn't know how he would ever be happy there again, not with the empty places in the closet, in his dresser, Cas' tie rack on the door taunting Dean with memories of sneaking kisses in Home Depot and lying on the floor of the closet, making love on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when they thought they had all the time in the world. When Dean didn't realize it was limited, that he was limited. That the universe had never meant for Dean to have love, not forever anyway.

Dean dismantled the closet organizer and carted the components to the curb to await trash pickup. He stubbornly refused to look for the piece with their initials when he tossed them in a haphazard stack in the ditch. He changed the sheets on the bed and slept in it for the first time, in a long time, alone.

...

_Six Months Later_

After a time, Dean began to date. He was going stir crazy at home, and Sam and Jo were more homebound than ever; Jo was going to have a baby in the summer and she had suffered severe morning sickness at first.

So Dean dated. He dated women from the bar, women from the grocery store, a waitress from the diner down the street. And then he met Tad.

Tad was tall, rakishly handsome with dark, dark hair and blue, blue eyes, and Dean absolutely didn't want to make comparisons. He appeared in the pub one night, slid into the seat Cas had first occupied so long ago, and crushed Dean's carefully constructed composure with the ghost of someone he vaguely resembled.

Instead of running, his first instinct now, always, Dean took his order. And they hit it off, the flirting painfully easy when Dean's heart was never really in it to begin with. They went out on one date, and another after that. And then it struck Dean: he was in public, having dinner with a man, and not once had he worried about what people would say.

No, all he could think of, when he was with Tad, or with any of the faceless, nameless dates he'd been on in the past few months, was that he must, _desperately must,_ fill the gaping, bleeding hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Whoever could fill it, so be it, and the rest of the world could be fucking damned.

The rest of the world, he realized, while drinking a glass of wine that he hated with a stranger he didn't know...well, the rest of the world could care less about Dean Winchester's love life.

The irony nearly brought him to his knees.

Dean didn't date after that.

...

"You have to hook the belt over the base, Dean," Jo said, exasperated with Dean's apparent incompetence.

Dean huffed, grumbling under his breath. "Ok, tubby, why don't you wedge yourself in here and do it if you think it's so easy."

Jo smacked him on the arm, then bumped him with her round basketball of a belly, shoving him aside. She wiggled between the front seat and the back, and Dean rolled his eyes when he heard the muted 'click' of the seat belt latching into place. Jo straightened, triumphant grin in place. "Voila."

"Oh shut up, Winchester," Dean growled. He bent over and picked up the tiny car seat by the handle and looked at it warily. "Now what do I do with this?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "You slide it onto the base." She pointed at the indentions in the arced bottom of the carrier. "Make sure you have it facing the correct way."

"Yes, mom," Dean grumbled again and leaned into the car to slot the seat into place. When he pressed the seat down into the base to lock it, a tiny u-shaped pillow fell over his arm and onto the back seat. He picked it up, studying it as he backed out of the open door.

"What's this?" He turned the odd-shaped pillow over in his hand. It was covered with soft blue flannel, printed with tiny airplanes, and smelled already of _infant_, even though Jo and Sam's baby still had weeks before he made an appearance.

"It's a pillow, to keep their head supported in the car seat." Jo took it from him and made a motion with the legs of the "U" to demonstrate how it would fit around a baby's neck.

Dean grimaced. "Looks uncomfortable."

Jo handed him the pillow again and shrugged. "Not as uncomfortable as a crick in your neck."

Dean squeezed the pillow lightly, then unconsciously brought it to his face. He breathed in the powdery smell from the baby laundry detergent Jo had used and closed his eyes.

Jo stood very still, watching him. "Dean…"

Dean looked at her, glassy-eyed and flushed. "Sorry," he whispered. He leaned into the back seat to unlatch the carrier, then unhooked the seatbelt to remove the base. When he turned back to Jo, holding a piece of the seat in each hand, she was still watching him, biting her lip in that way she had when she was trying not to overstep her boundaries.

She was a picture in the fading afternoon light. It had been her idea to come over, keep him company on this Monday afternoon, one of the two days of the week he had the most trouble filling.

Dean didn't plan on ever actually needing to drive his new nephew around in the Impala, at least not until he was able to buckle his own seat belt, but Jo had insisted he learn anyway. Dean appreciated the effort, he did, but just then, with her round little belly backlit by the setting sun, her pretty blond features softened with late pregnancy and the impending thrill of motherhood; she was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. His heart clenched hard in his chest and he ground his teeth together.

He missed his mother in that moment, missed her with all the strength he had left, which admittedly wasn't much. She would never know this grandchild, this baby boy who fate or God or destiny had seen fit to deliver to Sam and Jo, a bright spark of happiness in what had been a difficult year.

Dean's happiness was measured in compartments, by degree. The loss of Cas was still a wound, still fresh and twisting, a knife to his gut. While Dean could now think of him, remember his time with Cas, without drinking himself into a stupor or feeling so broken he couldn't breathe, he still missed him, every day. He had been thinking about him more often of late, as the days warmed and got longer, remembering hot afternoons in a field of blowing grass, the sun beating down, the smell of freshly turned earth, the spark of sunlight when it bounced from bright blue eyes. Dean knew Cas was in New Mexico now, on a dig.

Dean assumed that meant he was with Balthazar, but he never asked and Gabe never said. They still talked occasionally, mostly by text message.

His mother would have loved Cas, Dean thought, rubbing the soft flannel between his fingertips. She would have welcomed him into her family, without question, because Dean loved him. She would have fussed over his workload and fed him too many sweets, starched his shirts because she didn't trust the dry cleaners not to use harmful chemicals. And she would have loved him with all the love of a mother, regardless of blood, regardless of parenthood or origin.

And it was too much, this mother he missed, and the mother-to-be standing before him, and all the things Dean would never have again, and his face fell, crumpling against the small pillow. Dean hadn't openly cried since the day they buried his father, but he cried now, as Jo pulled him close, hushed him with soothing tones, patting his back.

When the tears ended, he felt weak, drained. He brushed fingers against his eyes, knowing they were red and swollen, but also knowing that Jo wouldn't care.

"Let's go make some banana bread," Jo said brightly, and he laughed, the sound choked out of a too-tight throat, still raw with emotion.

"Yeah. Okay," he said softly, and together they walked back into the house.

…

Sam sat across from Dean in a diner booth, a weekly lunch date that Dean depended on, probably too much, truth be told. Sam never mentioned it, though Dean had noticed that he never, ever, cancelled.

Sam was watching Dean eat his second piece of pie now, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Do you remember what it was like for me when Jess died, Dean?"

Jess, sweet, beautiful, blonde Jess, whose smile could light a city block. Whose laughter was so infectious she could turn a roomful of grown men into simpering mush. Jess and Sam were high school sweethearts, and from the first moment they had laid eyes on one another, that was it for them. They left for college together, ignoring the pleas of their parents and friends to see other people, to be _sure. _They were engaged at Christmas, their senior year.

And then tragedy.

It was sudden and brutal. Arson, the police report read. The apartment complex itself was saved by sheer miracle, families with children rescued on that dark night by the grace of God or angels, some said. But not Jess. Jess never made it out of her bed, the smoke detector never emitting its life-saving peel, $1.29 in a convenience store battery separating Sam from the love of his life for the rest of eternity.

Dean swallowed against the tears that crowded the back of his throat. "I remember," he said, voice husky and low. He wouldn't meet Sam's gaze. He did not want to hear what Sam wanted to say, but was paralyzed to leave. The bite of pie stuck in his throat.

Sam surprised him with his next words. "Jo saved my life, Dean. I would never have had this life, my beautiful, amazing Jo, if that hadn't happened. It was tragedy, it was grief, it was the worst thing I have ever, or please God, will ever live through." He reached over and clasped Dean's arm, painfully hard. "But I did live, Dean."

Dean looked up then, eyes shining bright with unshed tears.

"I will always love Jess," Sam's voice broke. "Some days…" he trailed off, faraway look in his eyes. "But I have a good life, one I am grateful for, every day. You," he paused, fingers digging harder into Dean's skin. "You fucked up, man."

Dean huffed, a watery laugh. "What the fuck, Sammy."

"I'm serious. You're not living. You're nothing without Cas." Sam sat up straight then, leaned back against the booth. "Either go get that 'some day' now or...I don't know. No, you know what? Go get it. Screw everything else."

Dean ached for Cas, a physical pain that he felt all the way to his marrow. And he understood Sam's simple message; he had had something that was good and pure and honest, and he had lost it, the real tragedy not in the accident or the injury, but in Dean, who had let the most important thing in his life walk away without a fight.

"Screw everything else," he whispered, smiling a waterlogged smile at his "big" younger brother.

Sam grinned back.

And Dean felt something break free in his chest. He thought it might be hope.

...

It was almost too easy, leaving one life and beginning a new one. Bobby and Ellen were so excited about the new baby that they jumped at the chance to close up the auto salvage for a time and take over the running of Joe's. They would be close enough to spoil that baby as much as they liked, and Dean would be free to...do anything.

What he wanted to do, exactly, was still up in the air. He had some money saved, quite a bit actually, because he had always been thrifty, leftover from a childhood of scrimping. Ellen and Bobby had the bar, the house would be closed up, waiting for his return. If he returned.

Dean awoke on a Wednesday and knew it was the right day. He packed his duffle and drove to Sam's office downtown.

"What are you going to do?" Sam's face was full of a sorrow Dean couldn't handle, not now. Maybe not ever. He needed distance and time and, frankly, to be elsewhere, anywhere but here. Somewhere that didn't have Cas lurking in every corner. Lawrence was a constant reminder of how perfect Dean's life had been, for far too short a time.

"I don't know, Sammy," he said. "That's sort of the beauty of it." His eyes were dry. He was wrung out, but now that he had a plan, such as it was, he was calm and more at peace than he had been in months. "I'm going to drive, see some of those places we used to talk about, when we were kids."

Sam laughed, a quiet, mournful sound. He had never dreamed his pep talk meant Dean would just take off. "I wish I could go with you, man."

Their eyes met and Dean's heart filled with an intense longing; he would miss Sam.

"Me too," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "But you've got that baby coming, and I don't plan on being gone forever." Although, he didn't know. Not really. Maybe he would never return to Lawrence. Sam and Jo would have a new life now, one that didn't revolve around Dean as much. A baby, a family. The whole house of cards, and Dean was always going to be one ace short.

"You better not be," Sam said gruffly, pulling Dean into a hard hug. "You call me, every day."

Dean nodded, overcome with emotion, throat too tight to speak. He let himself have this moment. When he stepped back, he swiped at his eyes. Maybe he had a few tears left after all. "You tell Jo I love her, and not to shake that baby loose before I get back."

"First sign of homesickness, you get your ass home, you hear me?"

Dean chuckled, but there was something off in the timbre. "Dude, I've been homesick for way too long." He met Sam's concerned gaze with a sad smile. "Now I'm going to try and outrun it. Nothing else has worked."

He stuck out a hand and Sam clasped it, wringing what little comfort he could from the tight grip of fingers. "I love you, Dean. Stay safe."

Dean's smile faltered and he pulled Sam into another hug. "Love you, Sammy," he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He turned abruptly, pushing through the office door, stepping into the bright spring sunshine and a whole new life.

...

Dean had one more stop before he left Lawrence for good. He drove the familiar trek to the dig site, slowing as he approached, unsure of what he would find, both externally and internally, when he got there. He pulled off the highway, parking in the grass of the quiet, empty field. The flags were all gone, the squares filled in with dirt, new grass already grown over. If you didn't know what to look for, you would never guess this had been an archaeological site just a few short months ago.

He got out of the Impala and stood in the open door, experiencing a flash of sense memory when the wind lifted his hair, perfuming the air with sweet spring grass. He could see Cas, kneeling next to him in the dirt, demonstrating the proper way to slice through the hard earth. He could feel him, gently bandaging his hand, cradling it against his stomach, giving Dean butterflies long before Dean would understand just how profound that touch would become, how necessary, like air or water.

It was just a field now, and the absence of everything Dean knew to be familiar was a crushing blow. He closed his eyes against the weight of the sorrow. When he climbed behind the wheel again, his eyes fell on the small vase on the seat beside him. He traced its delicate lip with a finger. He should drive back into Lawrence and drop it off with Sam, let Sam return it to the university where it belonged.

Dean looked through the window at the light green grasses waving in the mid-morning sun. He turned the key in the ignition; he wasn't going back to Lawrence. If that was some sort of statement, not returning the vase to its proper place, so be it. A part of him felt like the original creator might be sympathetic to Dean's plight. A piece of him, and of Cas, was embedded in that ancient slip of pottery as sure as the hands who had formed it so long ago. He tucked the towel back over the vase to protect it from rolling off the seat and put the car in drive.

...

Dean drove south until he hit Tulsa, where he pulled into a truck stop and ate waffles and scrambled eggs at a 24-hour Denny's. He bought state road maps for Oklahoma and Texas in the convenience store next door, and spread Oklahoma out on the hood of the Impala, looking at his choices. He could stay on I-44, tracking west through Oklahoma City and Amarillo, then New Mexico and beyond; or, he could go south on highway 75 and into Dallas. He hadn't been to Texas in years, and there were other options from the Dallas/Fort Worth area. He could drive south to Galveston, see the ocean, maybe see if any of his buddies from his boating days were still around. He studied the map, biting his lip.

Cas was in New Mexico.

As much as he might want to pretend he was considering his options, Dean knew he had never really had a different route planned. He hadn't really even needed the maps.

He got back in the Impala and headed west.

...


	18. Chapter 18

Dean's only companions on the long trek across Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle were a pile of faded cassette tapes and a few terse, sarcastic text messages from Gabe.

**_Dean: _**_Did you know there's a volcano in New Mexico?_

**_Gabe: _**_ Are you high?_

Dean shoved his Capulin Volcano National Monument brochure in the glovebox, along with a disposable camera he had picked up when he stopped for gas and food in Amarillo.

**_Dean: _**_You have directions to the NM dig?_

**_Gabe: _**_Bout fucking time._

**_Gabe: _**_You're a moron, you know that?_

**_Dean: _**_Do you have them or not. Sheesh._

**_Gabe: _**_Attaching a mapquest link. For God's sake shower first. You probably stink. Are you sleeping in your car? _

Dean ignored that one, leaning against the Impala's bumper in the parking lot at the trail head. Sure, he might have slept in his car a couple of nights, but Gabe didn't have to know that. Nosy bastard, anyway. He pulled up the map link on his phone and studied it.

The site was within the boundaries of the Chaco Canyon National Monument in the remote canyon country of New Mexico. It took him the better part of the day to get there, choosing a route that dipped below the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. Dean paid for a one-week national park pass at the visitor center. According to Gabe, he would have to take a one and a half mile hiking trail to the Wijiji great house, where the dig had been set up to excavate the area surrounding the small ruins. He followed a narrow paved road to the parking area closest to the trailhead.

It was hot. Dean carried a water bottle, an informational brochure the park ranger had pressed into his hands, and the small cardboard-wrapped camera. He wasn't dressed for a hike, and he was nervous about being exposed out here on the trail, where you could see for miles across the flat canyon basin. Now that he was minutes from (probably) coming face to face with Cas, his calm serenity had fled. His pulse fluttered hard in his throat as he walked along the dirt trail. There was an older couple on the path, moving slow and taking copious photos, and two young, enthusiastic hikers. Dean chose the hikers to tail; hoping to blend in. At least until he could decide if he wanted to be seen.

He heard music, the sound tinny and distorted, and he knew they were getting close.

It was as he rounded the last corner that Dean spotted him, and his heart pounded to a halt. Cas was thinner, his jeans and shirt hanging on his frame. His hair had grown back, still short, but there were no scars visible from the accident. He was sporting several days worth of stubble.

He looked homeless, Dean thought, smiling sadly. Dean stood behind the older couple and pretended to take photos of a falling down pueblo structure on the dry, barren landscape, but he was really watching Cas, eyes following him as he talked to several workers huddled around a makeshift table. Dean shrank behind the couple when Cas turned toward them.

He wasn't ready.

He had a sudden irrational fear that Cas would begin shouting (although Dean had never, not once, heard Cas shout. He had rarely even raised his voice). Or that Cas' eyes would be fearful and troubled, afraid that Dean had stalked him halfway across the continent (which, he had, sort of). But Cas paid him no mind, climbing over red rock boulders and the edge of an ancient wall to cut a shortened path to a tent Dean hadn't noticed before. He was studying something in his hand, oblivious to Dean's crushed and broken heart, screaming with the need to see him up close, to hear that rough voice and fall into those solemn eyes, where he would happily, gladly, drown.

Dean followed the couple as they worked their way around the trail, snapping pretend photos, even offering to take their photo, using their fancy camera with its big, black lens. He had no idea if he did it correctly, but the shutter made a whir and snap when he pressed it, and they seemed pleased when he passed the expensive looking piece of equipment back to them. He surreptitiously studied the students and workers around the dig site as he continued to feign exploration, but there was no sign of Balthazar.

He stalled as long as he could, but Cas didn't come out of the tent.

Dean's nerves got the best of him and he followed the trail back to the parking lot. He sat in the Impala, as the sun dipped low in the sky, eating a granola bar and an apple from the convenience store sack on the seat, replaying the way Cas' graceful frame had moved between the dig area and the students, being so fucking _Cas. _It was the worst kind of torture, but Dean savored it because he knew it might be the only glimpse he got.

At dusk, students begin to emerge from the trail and pile into their cars to leave. Dean sat up at attention when a lone, dark head appeared in the distance. He climbed from the car. It was now or never. Dean had already tasted never; he literally had nothing to lose.

He unwrapped the small vase and dropped the towel on the seat, shutting the car door. He approached Cas slowly, not wanting to startle the man.

"Castiel," Dean didn't know why he used his formal name. Maybe because they were strangers again.

Cas looked up, a friendly smile on his face that faltered when he saw him, recognition flickering. He walked slowly to Dean, studying him, wary curiosity on his face. He stepped too close, in such a classic Cas maneuver that Dean's heart turned over painfully in his chest. "Dean."

"Yeah," Dean could only whisper, caught in bottomless blue. Cas watched him closely, and Dean could feel his face flush hot. Even late into the day after having worked in the humid temperatures and face covered in stubble, Cas was beautiful and Dean ached to touch him.

Dean lost time; he didn't know how long they stood there staring at each other before Cas blinked, breaking the spell. Dean cleared his throat. "I, um," he fumbled and held up the small urn. "I wanted to bring you this. It's kind of important. It's," Dean almost said_ ours_. "It's yours."

Cas took the vase carefully, turning it over in his hands, brow wrinkling as he studied it. Dean watched as he bit his lower lip in concentration. "I've seen this before," he finally said, quietly.

Dean released the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah, you have. We found that together, you and I." It's not entirely true of course, but it's how Dean wanted to remember it and how he wanted Cas to remember it too. "It belongs with you."

Cas stared at Dean until Dean had to look away, cheeks burning again, throat tight with all of the things he couldn't say.

Cas shuffled his feet, pulling the urn against his chest carefully. "I was just leaving."

"Oh, yeah," Dean stuttered. "Me too, actually. I..." But he couldn't finish. There were still pieces of him that could be broken off, it would seem. He turned to go.

"I would like to hear the story of this vase," Cas said. Dean looked quickly back, and their eyes caught. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Dean thought his heart might be well and truly shattered, but the jagged, broken pieces might also find their way back together. He nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

Dean followed Cas' small car, the unfamiliar vehicle an unpleasant reminder of why it was different, why _they_ were different. They backtracked out of the park for nearly an hour, to Cuba, a tiny village that clearly subsisted on the tourism trade, nothing else in the small town to encourage growth. There were few restaurants to choose from, and Cas pulled into El Bruno's Mexican Restaurant and Cantina. They didn't speak as they waited to be seated.

Dean ordered a beer, and a tamale platter.

He wasn't even hungry.

Cas ordered tacos and rice. And tequila, which earned him a raised brow from Dean. Cas shrugged. "I need a little liquid courage right now."

It was the needed tension break and Dean relaxed a little, feeling his lungs expand; he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath in fits and starts.

When their food arrived, Dean told an amended version of the story of the vase. Cas frowned at Dean's hesitant conclusion, and rubbed his temple.

"Do you still have headaches?" Dean wished he could massage his fingers against the dark scalp, ease the tension he could see there, sorry that he was probably the cause of it tonight.

Cas nodded wearily. "The doctors say they may be with me for a while. They're worse when I'm struggling to remember," he trailed off, then smiled apologetically. "That wasn't an accusation, by the way."

Dean's breath caught at his tone. Was he flirting? Mouth dry, he inched closer, leaning ever so slightly into Cas' personal space across the small booth. "Do you remember anything from before the accident?" he asked. He could smell his shampoo when Cas ducked his head close to Dean's mouth to hear him over the restaurant noise.

Cas shook his head. "Not much, flashes mainly. " He was frowning at Dean again, puzzled by something. "I remember a man."

Dean's heart lurched and he thought, desperately, _Goddammit, I'm going to puke._

Cas continued. "Tall, brown hair, too long and hanging across his eyes..." he paused, eyes distant.

Dean snorted. Sam. Goddamn his horrible luck anyway. _His_ boyfriend gets a head injury and loses all memory of him but retains _Sam,_ of all people. He schooled his face when he realized Cas was watching him curiously. "Uh, that describes someone I know, actually," he said gruffly.

Cas' eyes flicked to his mouth when Dean took another long drink from his bottle and Dean relished the pull of attraction that hummed between them.

He wondered if Cas felt it too.

...

They left the restaurant, standing hesitant and unsure between their cars in the parking lot.

"Where are you staying?" Cas asked when the conversation stalled. Dean couldn't see his eyes in the deepening night.

"Uh, nowhere. Possibly, my baby," he joked, patting the hood. "I sort of didn't plan this trip."

"Do you want to stay with me?"

It caught Dean off guard. He suspected the proper thing would be to say no; he still didn't know where Balthazar was, and Cas was...fragile. Dean could see that now. He was Cas, but he wasn't. He was a muted, previous version of the Cas Dean loved and it was unsettling. At the same time, Dean didn't think he was physically capable of walking away. Not again.

"Sure, thanks Cas." He had no idea how his voice could possibly be so calm, so steady. He went to walk around the car, back to the driver's side, but Cas stopped him at the edge of the bumper, hand on his arm. Dean froze, startled green eyes locked on blue. He felt Cas' fingers grip him tighter and then he pressed his lips hesitantly to Dean's.

Dean's lashes fluttered closed and he stood as still as possible. The kiss was brief, butterfly wings brushing over his lips, and when he opened his eyes Cas was studying him intently.

Cas touched his lower lip with a fingertip. "I remember this."

Dean exhaled slowly. "Me too," he whispered.

Cas stepped back, breaking the spell, and Dean continued around the car, heart hammering through his chest, blood pumping furiously fast, making him dizzy.

...

Cas was staying at a roadside motel called the Frontier Inn; Dean supposed in travel guides it would be described as _quaint_, the neon sign out front that beckoned weary travelers a throwback to the heyday of midcentury America.

They sat on the double beds and watched the local nightly news broadcast. Cas had a cooler of beer, incongruously, since Dean knew it wasn't his beverage of choice.

Dean saw no further evidence of a second guest staying in the room.

He was also too cowardly to ask.

Cas yawned loudly, and Dean chuckled, then frowned a second later when Cas dropped his head into his hands.

"You okay?"

"Mmm," Cas moaned. "Head hurts."

Dean moved to sit carefully on Cas' bed. "Do you have anything to take?"

Cas gave him a long look, but nodded. "I really shouldn't though, not after the tequila."

"Or the beer," Dean murmured, reaching cautiously for Cas' head, moving slow to allow him time for retreat at the first sign from Cas that he should stop. Cas shivered when Dean's fingers rifled gently through his hair, then found the muscles knotted up at the base of his neck. Cas met his eyes as Dean probed the soreness, and Dean found he had to look away first, his cheeks warm.

His fingers stilled and he withdrew them to his lap. At Cas' tired sigh, he moved to his feet. "Let's get you in bed."

Cas stood wearily and watched as Dean turned down the sheets. While Cas got ready for bed, Dean turned away, oddly self-conscious at the rustle of garments when they hit the floor. He turned off the television, and went to latch the motel door. He turned back to find Cas watching him, tired eyes fighting sleep.

"Dean," he whispered, and Dean wondered if he was imagining the longing behind the confusion.

"Just sleep, Cas," Dean said softly, and sat beside him again. He waited until Cas' breathing evened out before he stood, but Cas immediately awoke, his hand reaching for Dean.

"Will you stay?" Cas' voice was rusty from sleep, his palm too warm, too welcome, on Dean's thigh.

Dean, helpless to refuse this man who had the ability to wring his heart from his chest with one look, nodded. He nudged Cas to scoot over and kicked off his boots. Cas moved to the center of the bed and watched under hooded, sleepy eyes as Dean stripped the t-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans.

Dean flushed when Cas' eyes followed his fingers as they worked the buttons on his fly. He kicked the jeans aside, finally, and slid under the cool sheets, the mattress dipping with his weight. Cas rolled flush against him, and wrapped an arm around his waist. Dean felt hot breath along his collarbone as Cas mouthed a kiss there. He wondered if Cas could feel him trembling.

"Sleep, Cas," he said gruffly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Cas tightened his grip on his waist but relaxed against him.

They slept.

...


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's Note: **__Did you know there's a form of cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) known as extreme fluff? It's a thing._

...

Dean stirred, waking from the most restful night he had had in months. He groaned a little, unwilling to give it up, burrowing deeper into the soft bedding, nestling closer to a warm back.

His eyes blinked open.

_Oh._

Cas dragged the blanket over his head. "Stop moving."

It came out muffled, sounding more like _Stoffmnvnth. _

Dean's mouth lifted in a sleepy grin. Still not a morning person, then. He resisted, just barely, the desire to duck under the sheet and press his lips against the smooth skin of Cas' back, the instinct to possess fierce. As if he read his mind, Cas leaned back suddenly, head popping into view and crashing against Dean's chin.

"Ow," Dean complained. His hands apparently had a mind of their own, and had already decided to grip at Cas' hip, his waist. He had never realized before that someone's skin could be familiar, that it could feel so _right_ under his fingertips. Lord. He was, _this was..._ overwhelming. It was going zero to sixty in four seconds on a straight stretch, not a cloud in the sky or another car on the horizon, Zeppelin blaring from the speakers.

"Sorry," Cas muttered under a yawn.

Dean inhaled deep, surrounded by a smell so particularly _Cas,_ so tantalizingly close, that he had to close his eyes against it. God he had missed this.

Dean's chest hurt from missing this; hell, his everything hurt from missing this. He concentrated on evening out his breathing. In. Out. Dean mused that he had become quite well acquainted with his lung habits over the past year, his own personal quirky side effect of being madly, hopelessly in love. Or devastatingly heartbroken.

Cas moved suddenly, and Dean was jolted from his reverie, but he was trapped, nowhere to go without falling off the narrow motel bed. Cas executed a neat roll and plastered himself against him, chest to chest, one arm slung around Dean's waist. He sighed contentedly. _OctoCas_, Dean thought fondly.

"I'm hungry," he mumbled, mouth mashed against Dean's skin.

Dean didn't know what to do with his hands. He was enjoying this, hell his dick was more than enjoying this, _it_ was downright exuberant, but Dean's brain couldn't flip that fast. Nor, if he was honest with himself, could his heart. And _fuck, _he didn't want to be honest with himself, but last he knew, Cas was '_with'_ Balthazar, whether the blonde Englishman was here or not, and Dean was... Well, Dean was a predicament from Cas' past who had run away from his life and somehow still managed to spend the night.

Cas caught on to Dean's problem (both the one below his waist, and the one above), the longer he lay wrapped around him. He rolled to his back, and stared up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling. Dean moved his head on the pillow so he could catalog the handsome profile lying next to him. There had been a period in Dean's life when most of his mornings had been spent in this exact pastime, he remembered sadly.

"You want to go get something to eat," Dean asked, wondering if it would be breaking any rules if he reached out and felt the stubble (bordering on beard now, really) on Cas' jaw. What exactly _were_ the rules after someone had just wrapped around you like a cat?

Cas turned his head to the side and looked at him seriously. _Fuck,_ Dean thought. The blue of his eyes was inhumanly deep. _Fuck fuck fuck. _

"What are your plans after that?"

And that was his Cas, really. Cutting to the heart of the matter, no bullshit required or tolerated.

"Well, I can't hang around Chaco Canyon much longer. Once you've seen it, you've kinda seen it." Dean stalled, something he was really good at. He had no idea what he was going to do in the next five minutes, much less the rest of the week. He only knew he didn't want to run into Balthazar; he might be a little afraid of what he would do if he does. One _day_ in proximity, and Dean was sucked firmly back into a state that required Cas to breathe, to pump blood through his veins. Dean wasn't sure he had the energy to go back to the day before that.

Cas sat up and stretched, arms high overhead, and Dean's hands _itched_ to touch him. Even a shade too thin, too pale, shaggy and tired, he was pure sex; at least, he was for Dean. Cas scooted off the bed and dragged on his jeans, then retrieved a collapsible duffle from under the bed. He started shoving his belongings into it.

Dean sat up on an elbow, surprised. "What are you doing?"

Cas glanced at him, matter of fact. "I'm going with you."

A rush of affection poured over Dean, liquid honeyed relief. There were a million questions flooding his mind but the one he asked was the simplest.

"Why?"

Cas merely smiled, zipping the duffle bag shut. He grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. Dean grinned when he realized it was his, but he didn't point out the error. He had clothes in the car, and _holy Jesus_ he had nearly forgotten how good Cas looked wearing his clothes. How good it felt to see Cas in them. He got out of bed and started to dress too.

"Are you sure?" Dean wasn't confident of much these days, but one thing he knew for certain was that he wouldn't survive Cas walking away. He had to be absolutely positive.

Cas tossed the packed duffle to the door and grabbed a small toiletry bag from the dresser. His eyes were hot as they traced Dean's features, and Dean flushed. "Why? Because, I know you. I know _this._" He gestured between them. "Dean, I may not remember all the history behind us_,_ but since I woke up, you're the first thing that's made perfect sense to me." He tilted his head. "I'm supposed to be with you, aren't I?" But it wasn't really a question and Dean found himself fighting to breathe again. He was going to be on a goddamn oxygen tank before he got his life sorted out.

"Yeah, Cas. You're supposed to be with me."

The last piece of Dean's shattered heart began to wind its way home.

...

Cas dropped his key at the front desk while Dean loaded his bags in the Impala's trunk. He got a really perverse pleasure seeing their duffles lined up next to each other on the faded carpet.

When they were both seated on the bench seat, ready to go, Cas inhaled deeply. "I love this car."

Dean chuckled. "Who wouldn't?" He winked. "So, where to, Professor?"

The nickname caught Cas off guard and his eyes flew to Dean's face. Dean could see turmoil in his eyes, but fear didn't seem to be uppermost, so he waited for Cas to answer, prayed this wasn't the moment Cas decided to be rational.

It wasn't.

"I don't think I care. Where were you going before you found me?"

Dean bit his lip. "I have a list," he said sheepishly. He leaned over and dug it out of the glove box, elbow brushing Cas' knee. "I've never been to the Grand Canyon."

Cas took the sheet of notebook paper from him and read it carefully, then clicked his seatbelt into place. "Neither have I." He smiled at Dean, sinking comfortably into the leather seat. "But the Painted Desert is on the way. I've always wanted to see it."

...

Dean made it as far as the gas station at the end of the tiny town before his goddamn traitorous conscious got the better of him. He filled the tank before sliding behind the wheel again.

"What about Balthazar?" He had to force the words through his teeth, jaw tight.

"I'll call him from the road." Cas looked at him evenly. "I'm going with you, Dean. Drive."

So Dean drove.

...

They stopped in Gallup to top off the gas tank and check fluids. Dean's baby wasn't temperamental, but on these long, hot roadways, he wasn't taking any chances. Cas had gone inside to grab snacks. Dean had hinted that he better not come back with strictly bird food, but Cas had not risen to the bait, using his bossy Professor stare over the Impala's hood until Dean broke first. Damn him.

Dean sat in the driver's seat, windows rolled down, humming along with the radio. This part of New Mexico wasn't exactly a mecca of classic rock stations, but a little static never hurt anyone. Or so Dean had argued cheerfully when Cas began muttering under his breath earlier from the passenger seat. His phone buzzed against his hip and he pulled it from his pocket. Gabe.

**_Gabe_**_: Balthazar is pissed._

Cas must have called Balthazar while inside the store. Dean tried not to feel too smug.

**_Dean_**_: Balthazar can suck my dick._

**_Gabe_**_: Dude. Poor word choice._

**_Dean_**_: Shut up._

Dean could see Cas' dark head through the convenience store window; he was at the checkout now. His phone buzzed again.

**_Gabe_**_: How is he?_

Dean thought carefully before he answered. First, he barely knew how Cas was because this Cas was an enigma. He couldn't read him as easily as before, and he wasn't sure if it was due to a slight personality shift or to the fact that there was still lingering confusion from the injury, and that was muting everything else. Or maybe Cas had just learned how to hide from Dean.

**_Dean_**_: Ok. Head still bothering him._

Gabe fired off an immediate reply.

**_Gabe_**_: Do you have his meds?_

**_Dean_**_: Yes mom._

**_Gabe_**_: Don't be a smartass._

**_Gabe_**_: AND NO SEX._

**_Dean_**_: OMG._

**_Dean_**_: I can't believe I'm going to say this, but he doesn't want me like that._

Dean looked up as Cas walked out of the store, white plastic bag in hand.

**_Gabe_**_: Not to be repetitive, but are you high? _

Dean was still chuckling when Cas slid into the passenger seat. "Everything all right?"

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yep." His phone buzzed again and he glanced down as he started the car.

**_Gabe_**_: I fully expect you to delete this text after reading so there's no proof that I have feelings and shit BUT there is not a single atom of my brother that doesn't want you Dean Winchester. All of you. He may not know why, but he knows he wants you._

**_Gabe_**_: Just be careful. And I'm not talking rubbers. _

Dean shoved the phone in his pocket without answering. Cas handed him a Hostess individual apple pie and Dean smiled broadly.

"That's what I'm talking about."

Cas rolled his eyes and tore back the peel on his banana.

Dean put the car in reverse and maneuvered back onto the exit ramp for I-40.

Also, no way in _hell_ was he ever deleting that text message. It might be the only thing that kept him off the ledge in the darkest days ahead.

...

The Painted Desert was incredible. Dean dutifully pulled into every overlook for Cas, expecting to be bored silly, but even he had to admit that the cone-shaped formations, stacked in layers of clay and sandstone in a kaleidoscope of colors, defied all reason. He coerced a young girl of probably twelve to snap his and Cas' photo together at Kachina Point with his little cardboard camera.

He thought of the newspaper photo, still hanging behind the register at Joe's; he could never bear to take it down, so it had stayed, long after Cas himself was gone. Pictures weren't as good as the real article, but this time (please God let this be a _this time) _Dean was going to make sure he had plenty of both.

He had to convince Cas not to climb over the bars that limited access at Newspaper Rock and hike down to the ancient monument; the petroglyphs were apparently too damn enticing and Cas complained loud and long about viewing them through the available telescope, its quality admittedly negligible.

"I'm a professional, Dean. I should have access."

Dean secretly thought his annoyance was adorable, but he knew saying so wouldn't necessarily win him any points. "Yeah, but if they allowed every 'professional' to have access, can't you see the issues that might happen then?"

"I'm an _archaeologist,_" Cas sniffed indignantly. "And since when are you such a paragon of virtue?"

Dean, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, bumped his fist lightly on Cas' chin. "I'm going to ignore that, since you're basing your opinion off my jumping into bed with you in the last twelve hours. And yes. You are. Now look through the telescope like a good little professor so we can move on. I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," Cas grumbled, but he hogged the telescope until a family of five made a show of clearing their throats impatiently behind him. When he finally turned, he smiled beatifically at the mother, who blushed bright pink (Dean felt her pain), and Dean had to pull Cas quickly away by the arm, the burly father scowling menacingly.

The Petrified Forest was less exciting. As they drove the winding road connecting the parks, Dean kept expecting a, well, _forest._ The closest he got was the Crystal Forest Trail, where there was at least one petrified log that he could tell had, at one point in time, been an actual tree.

"Finally. A tree."

"Petrified log." Cas snapped a photo of Dean standing beside it. Dean was almost positive his mouth had been hanging open awkwardly.

"If this was a forest, why aren't there more of these lying around? Now that would be something to see." Dean ran a finger along the smooth jewel-like surface where the log had split long ago.

"Well, not all trees became petrified. And before this area was claimed as a national park, people would take the pieces to sell, or keep." Cas snapped another photo of Dean.

"Give me that," Dean said, exasperated, wrestling the camera from Cas' grasp.

"We need another one. There are only a few shots left."

"And food. We need food."

"Yes, Dean. I'll feed you." Cas pushed Dean forward on the trail, and Dean might have thrilled a little at the touch of his hand on his back; it was the first time he had voluntarily touched him since this morning when he seemingly had no problem whatsoever touching all parts of him.

Well, maybe not _all _parts_._

They picked up brochures for other local monuments and parks at the visitor's center and Cas nabbed a national parks passport book in the gift shop. He used the provided cancellation stamps to mark the appropriate pages for the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest.

Dean watched him fondly, waiting patiently even though his stomach really _was_ growling ferociously now. Maybe he should have asked for something more substantial on the snack front than a sugary dessert pie.

The cashier watched Dean watch Cas, her eyes sliding between them. "Is this your first trip to Arizona," she asked Dean. At his nod she smiled, gesturing to Cas. "You'll be glad you bought that. There are tons of national parks and monuments here. It makes a nice souvenir."

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, but she seemed sincere. "Thanks. Do I pay you?"

"I can pay, Dean," Cas said without looking up. He was carefully aligning the stamp so it didn't transfer crookedly in the allotted box on the park's page.

Dean opened his wallet and handed the girl a twenty, lifting his eyebrows as if to say, _What are you gonna do?_

She giggled and made his change before moving to help the next customer.

"I would have bought it," Cas murmured when Dean leaned on the glass case holding the passport station.

"But you didn't have to. Because I bought it for you." Dean spoke low enough he noted that Cas leaned ever so marginally closer, as if to hear him better. Dean thought he might start speaking really low all the time, to see just how far into his space Cas would travel. He liked the electric buzz that hummed to life between them when they got too close. Or not close enough.

When Cas looked at Dean from under his lashes, Dean was thrust nine months into the past in an instant and his heart dipped into his stomach.

"Hungry?"

Cas nodded and straightened, carefully returning the stamps to their tray and closing the provided inkpad.

"Let's drive into Winslow. Then you can sing that song," Cas said as they pushed open the glass entry door and stepped into the bright afternoon sun.

"The Eagles? Dude. I'm impressed. Your music knowledge has always been sadly lacking."

"I don't think that's true," Cas frowned. "I played Beethoven for you, don't forget."

Dean stopped. Dean's heart stopped. Hell, Dean thought it might be possible his every organ had just crashed to a screaming halt.

Cas turned when he realized Dean was no longer walking beside him. "What?"

"Cas," Dean breathed. "You remembered."

Cas cocked his head, brow wrinkled, but then his eyes cleared and widened. "My apartment, we ate, we ate..." He frowned harder. "Fuck, I don't remember what we ate. But I played Beethoven."

Dean crossed the concrete sidewalk and grabbed his arms, his grip too tight but he couldn't care. "_I_ don't remember what we ate," he said laughing. He pulled Cas into an impromptu hug. "Wait! Yes I do! That was the night I met Gabe-"

"Kobe burgers," Cas said triumphantly, and Dean didn't care if they were standing in front of a national park visitor center, teeming with families and retirees and bicyclists and hardcore hikers; he wanted to kiss Cas so badly it hurt.

They stood there on the hot, pale concrete sidewalk grinning at each other.

The moment passed when Dean's stomach growled loudly.

Cas chuckled. "Let's go find you something greasy and artery-hardening."

...

Dean snapped the last photo in the camera of Cas, standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. Which made Dean exceptionally jovial, but he supposed part of his good cheer could also be attributed to the jumbo cheeseburger and homemade root beer he had just consumed at Darrel's Root Beer Stand.

Cas made Dean stop at Meteor City, a geodesic domed trading post, where he bought another disposable camera and a pack of gum. Dean bought a postcard and a stamp, and hastily jotted down a note to Sam and Jo on the back, and the girl at the desk put it in a basket of outgoing mail. Cas took the first picture in the camera of Dean in front of the world's largest dreamcatcher, before they left to rejoin the lazy traffic moving west on I-40.

Dean put his foot down on driving out to the actual meteor crater.

"I don't give two craps about seeing a giant hole in the ground."

"It's an important geological artifact!"

"So says the nerdy archaeology professor."

"Well, I'd promise there would be beer, half-naked women, and monster trucks but I'd be lying."

"Are you calling me a redneck?"

"If the thick skull fits."

They drove in silence for a few more miles.

"I like volcanoes," Dean said quietly.

Cas carefully unfolded the Arizona national parks guide in his lap. "Then we should head north in Flagstaff. Sunset Crater," he looked quickly at Dean. "Which is a volcano, not a _giant hole in the ground._"

Dean grinned at the implied air quotes. Asshole. He took Exit 201 to Flagstaff, and then continued north.

...


	20. Chapter 20

Sunset Crater was, in fact, a volcano. It was small, breaking on the horizon when the Impala rounded a corner. Dean had been surprised to see snow on the mountains in his rearview mirror, but it had gotten cooler as they climbed in elevation. As they neared the dormant volcano, dark lava flow materialized on either side of the pavement. It looked fake, like something from a movie set. Dean was fascinated and kept stopping the car to get out and take another picture, or run his hands across the dark substance. In some places it was jagged, sharp, like the surface of a distant planet, burned up by the sun; in others it was smooth, molten liquid in appearance, and in still others, it was fine, black sand.

They parked in a small lot at the base and walked the short, guided hike. Dean was glad for the opportunity to stretch his legs; it was getting late in the day, or they might have had time to hike to the caldera.

"Next time," Cas said casually, leaning against the hood of the Impala as he read the brochure he had grabbed from a stand at the trailhead. It had an illustrated map of the park on the back.

Dean smiled at the words. _Next time. _ "Okay, so where to now? Grand Canyon?" His face was eager, pleading, and Cas laughed, tilting his head.

"The Grand Canyon isn't going anywhere, Dean."

Dean scowled and grabbed for the brochure. "Please don't tell me you found an archaeology site out here. We didn't come all this way for you to get your toothbrush out and start combing through a pile of dirt."

They wrestled for control of the glossy paper, but Dean ultimately won, triumphantly holding the crumpled map overhead.

"Now I know how Sammy feels. He's right, it_ is_ totally fair."

"Oh shut up," Cas muttered, then poked Dean hard in the ribs, forcing him to drop his arm.

"Ow, sore loser."

"I think it's pretty pathetic that you would take advantage of an injured person."

Dean scoffed. "You're not injured, you big baby."

"I'm still on medication."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What kind?"

"None of your business."

"Because you're lying."

"Prove it."

Dean bit his lip to hold back a grin. "You name one medication that isn't for migraines and I'll let you drive."

Their eyes met and held for a long moment, then Cas broke first, sighing dramatically. "Fine. You win."

"Ha. That's what I thought," Dean smirked. "Don't worry, Baby," he said, patting the Impala's hood. "No big bad head case is going to drive you."

"Oh my God. Just pick a spot on the damn map so we can get out of here before you two have to get a room."

Dean thought if Cas' eyes rolled any harder they might pop out of his skull.

"I'm just reassuring her. No one drives my baby." But he wouldn't look Cas in the eye as he said it and Cas pounced.

"Aha! You let me drive the Impala."

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I can tell by your shifty eyes."

"I don't have shifty eyes."

"Yes you do." Cas held out his hand. "Let me drive, Dean."

"No way." Dean's voice was firm.

"Why not?"

"Because you have a head injury," Dean said stubbornly.

Cas grabbed the brochure from Dean's hand in a flash. "Awesome. Now, let's continue around the paved road east to the Wupatki pueblo site. It loops back out to the highway on the other side."

Dean's mouth worked.

Cas climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.

"Damn, he's good," Dean muttered under his breath.

...

The road, it turned out, was long, winding back through God's country, the terrain so flat and expansive you could see for miles, distant buttes breaching the line between earth and sky. Rising from the desert floor, nestled in a valley, a large pueblo structure appeared, beautifully framed by the sinking sun. Cas began to fidget impatiently on the seat, and Dean laughed.

"Calm down, professor. I'll get you there, I promise."

Dean maneuvered the car into a slanted parking spot.

Cas threw off his seatbelt and was out of the car in flash.

"Hey, wait up," Dean groused, fumbling for the keys. He caught up with him as Cas stood in a circular viewing platform overlooking the pueblo below. There were few cars in the lot behind them, so it was quiet and serene, the only sound the wind as it whistled across the valley, the sky pink with the impending sunset. Dean thought it was gorgeous, and also sort of sad. He imagined that he could feel the people who had lived here so long ago, that maybe their spirits stayed and still watched over their valley. It felt sacred, and Dean thought he might have a new appreciation for Cas' vocation.

They took the paved staircase that led down to the monument and wandered around the site, stepping into the accessible rooms. Dean smiled as Cas flipped his professor switch, explaining the layout and each room's intended usage. The round, almost amphitheater style pit was a 'ball court', Cas explained.

"Ball as in ballgame?"

Cas smiled at Dean's enthusiasm. "Yes, Dean. Culturally speaking, in some ways we haven't really changed that much."

They climbed the staircase to the parking lot, and Dean was out of breath when they reached the top.

"I might need to lay off the pancakes for a few mornings."

"It's the elevation," Cas said and Dean frowned when he noted the slighter man wasn't even the least bit winded.

"Then why aren't you huffing?" Dean actually _was_ huffing; his heart was pounding like he'd just finished a sprint.

Cas studied Dean thoughtfully, eyes moving down his chest to hover at his waist. Dean's heart fluttered, and it wasn't just from exertion. "Maybe you _should_ think about eating a piece of fruit now and then," he finally said.

"Hey! Did you just call me fat?"

But Cas had already turned to open the car door, slipping behind it with a smirk.

...

It was dark when they arrived at Tusayan, just outside the south rim gate of the Grand Canyon.

"I propose we sleep tonight and then get up early tomorrow."

"_You_ want to get up early," Dean teased, but he pulled into a Best Western. "Um," he hesitated, parked under the awning. "One room or two?" He could feel his face flush, and he avoided looking at the passenger seat.

"Oh." Cas was quiet and when Dean snuck a peek, he had turned his head to study the motel. "Two, I guess." He dug in his pocket and handed Dean his wallet, blue eyes glowing in the dashboard lights.

"I've got it, Cas," Dean said gruffly, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. _Goddammit._ He left Cas' wallet hanging in mid-air and scrambled from the car, escaping the sudden tension.

They were silent as they waited for the elevator, each holding a duffle bag and a room key. Dean's cheeks still felt too warm.

Cas shifted his feet nervously.

Because fate liked to kick Dean when he was down, just in case he got too complacent, Cas' room was a floor above his. The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Dean hesitated on the threshold.

"Uh, I guess this is good night then."

Cas' expression was unreadable. "Good night, Dean." He reached over and pressed the button to close the door.

_Well, all right then, _Dean thought, hackles rising. So Cas was pissed. He didn't have to say two rooms. Dean didn't _force_ him to say two rooms.

After all, _Dean_ wasn't the one who was being coy and adorable and not sharing anything remotely personal or vital to the questions tearing Dean up inside.

Nevermind that Dean didn't have the guts to _ask_ the questions.

Dean threw his duffle bag into the corner with more force than necessary and it bounced off the wall. He winced, hoping the room next door was unoccupied.

He showered, taking a little personal 'me' time while he stood under the pounding hot water, anger and frustration fueling his hand as much as hot blue eyes and dark stubbled jaw. He didn't really feel any better afterward.

He lay on top of the covers in his boxers and watched SportsCenter.

And an episode of Friends.

And Iron Chef.

"Fuck it," he muttered, pulling his jeans back on. He was buttoning his fly when there was a sharp rap on the door. Cas stood in the hall in a pair of flannel pants and Dean's t-shirt.

"I can't sleep," Cas said.

Dean stepped aside to let him in. Cas stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the TV. "You watch the Food Network."

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes. I like food."

Cas' mouth lifted and he bit into his cheek, but he didn't say anything.

Dean pointed at him. "And don't you dare go saying I'm fat again."

Cas lifted his hands in surrender, but he was grinning. "I didn't say you were _fat._"

"That's not what it sounded like to me," Dean mumbled, sitting back on the bed and leaning against the headboard. Cas still hadn't moved. "Are you going to sit down?"

Cas frowned and rubbed his temple with one hand. Dean leaned forward, concerned. "Headache?" When Cas nodded, Dean held out a hand and sighed. "Come here."

He scooted over to make room and Cas sat next to him, but Dean pushed him down. "Lie down on your stomach," he said quietly. Cas hesitated, meeting Dean's gaze. One beat, two. Three. Then he turned and lay down on the bed, and Dean could breathe again, exhaling silently through his nose.

He carded his fingers gently through Cas' hair, using the tips to massage his scalp lightly. He moved very lightly over the part that had been shaved, feeling the narrow, raised areas of scar tissue under the regrown hair. Cas relaxed against the pillows, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean continued to stroke his head, massaging his temple lightly, back across his crown, down to the nape where he used more force, pushing with more pressure against the tight tendons.

Cas' breathing evened out until Dean knew he was asleep, but he didn't stop touching him. He had missed this, for so long, craved it. He massaged the knots he felt in Cas' back, where he had always held too much tension, between his shoulder blades and low, along the edge of his spine. Dean yawned and glanced at the bedside clock. One a.m. He should really get some sleep; he didn't want to fall over the edge of the canyon tomorrow because he was too tired to mind his step.

He reached for the remote and clicked off the TV, leaning over Cas' prone form to switch off the light. He pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed over both of them and lay back on the pillow next to Cas.

He had totally wasted $195.99 for that second room.

Except, he thought sleepily, laying a hand next to Cas' on the pillow, he really didn't mind.

...

When Dean stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time, he was struck dumb. He had read about it, seen pictures of it, viewed it in a movie a few times...but the size and scope was simply implausible in its majesty. Dean's brain couldn't process it. It stretched as far as he could see in all directions. He and Cas stood grinning stupidly at each other for several minutes while they tried to absorb the grandeur.

If Dean thought he got winded while taking the stairs at Wupatki, that was nothing compared to the sheer misery of hiking the trails along the rim. He was so fucking thankful for the periodic benches that allowed respite, he could cry, but that would require more oxygen than his poor depleted cells could spare. He might have felt a little smug that Cas was out of breath at least half the time too.

They started riding the trolley bus instead of walking to each lookout.

Just to conserve energy, they assured each other.

Dean leaned on the steel bars at the edge of an overlook, gazing across the brightly hued canyon, the Colorado river a tiny ribbon winding along the canyon floor below. He heard a familiar muted click and knew Cas had the camera out again.

"You know, we're going to run out again if you don't stop taking pictures of me. How many do you need of my face, anyway?"

Cas ignored him and snapped one more.

"What is that," Cas asked suddenly, grabbing Dean's wrist.

Dean froze; it was the folded note Cas had written so many months ago in the hospital. Dean still kept it in his pocket, folded up tight, the edges worn smooth and soft now. He had developed a nervous habit of rolling it over his fingers, like a playing card.

Cas snatched it from his hand before Dean could shove it back in his pocket.

"Cas," Dean started but Cas had already unfolded the worn paper carefully, reading the words so many months after he had written them.

Cas winced. "Why did you keep this?"

"Because you wrote it," Dean bit out, suddenly tense. And it was true; it was not as if the words were any sort of comfort. They were agony in ink, but it was the last thing Cas had given him and Dean could never bear to throw it out.

"I was lying."

"What?" Dean froze, startled.

"This?" Cas raised the paper and it flapped precariously in the wind above his head. "What I should have written was, _Hey, Dean I had a really hot sex dream about you last night and it scared the fuck out of me this morning when I looked at my boyfriend and saw your face instead."_

Dean blinked. "Then why didn't you write that?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

Dean pulled the paper from Cas' fingers. He read it again, rubbing the pad of his index finger across the faded words, long since memorized. He looked across the canyon vista for a long, quiet moment, then opened his hand and let the wind carry the note away on the breeze.

"Sometimes I am too," he said.

Cas quirked his head, his former agitation evaporating. "Yes, you are."

Dean grinned. "Technically you have no proof of that." _Long live amnesia humor,_ he thought.

Cas rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Come on, Winchester. Let's ride around in the back of the trolley for a while. I'm tired." He continued to hold Dean's hand as they walked to the bus pick up; Dean knew there was a goofy smile on his face, but couldn't find the wherewithal to care.

...

After dinner, they decide to hang out on the edge of the canyon where the Navajo were setting up a bonfire for a weekly ceremony. They were dozing under a tree when Cas' phone buzzed on the ground between them. Dean glanced down and saw the name. _Balthazar._

Cas touched _Decline_ on the touchscreen.

"Why did you come with me," Dean blurted.

Cas blinked several times, eyebrows raised. "Because I wanted to get to know you," he said cautiously.

"Get to know me," Dean said, suddenly frustrated. "Am I some kind of big experiment for you, where you decide at the end you'll either stay or go? Cause, I gotta tell you Cas, that's pretty shitty. _We_ are not an experiment." Dean clenched his teeth, unsure where the sudden burst of anger had come from.

Maybe it had been there all along.

He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to push Cas away, either. But Dean was stretched too thin here, balancing between wanting Cas, feeling the familiar tug of home and family and love that they had so carefully built between them, and being scared out of his mind that Cas was going to leave at the end of all this anyway, go back to Balthazar or hell, maybe to someone else, or no one at all. Maybe _this_ Cas, the new and improved version, would decide that Dean simply wasn't enough.

Cas watched Dean as the taut silence stretched between them, then climbed to his feet and walked away.

For one excruciatingly painful moment, Dean thought that was it; Cas was gone. The knife may have dulled since the last time it stabbed Dean in the heart, but it sure as fuck didn't hurt any less. Dean moved to one of the nearby benches and sat down, closing his eyes and letting the late afternoon sun warm his face. When someone sat down beside him, entirely too close, he blinked.

Cas pressed a book into his hands.

Dean stared at it for a long moment, then turned it over in his hands; it was a journal, leather-bound and well-worn. He flipped the pages and saw that nearly all of them were filled with handwriting. He looked at Cas' face, dappled with sunlight as it filtered through the leaves overhead.

"When I left the hospital, my occupational therapist told me that people with a head injury like mine needed to learn new ways to keep track of information as it returned. Or, to record new things too, mundane things that are more—" Cas sighed. "More difficult than they used to be." He studied Dean's face sadly. "I thought it was stupid at first. I didn't want to be making out lists all day long, or recording my dreams or flashes of memories, half of which I had no idea whether they were true or not."

He tapped the book on Dean's lap. "I've never shown this to anyone before. You're holding the past six months of my life, Dean."

"Why now," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper. The book scared him; what if he didn't like what he read? What if he wasn't strong enough to read it, to accept it. This was the chance to have the ultimate truth, as it pertained to the man sitting beside him; the man he loved above all else, whom he would gladly take a bullet for, or sell his soul to save. Cas was the love of Dean's life. Did he really want to know with absolute certainty if Cas, this Cas, no longer felt the same?

"Because I want you to know me," Cas said, just as softly, the deep blue of his eyes rich and painfully lovely. "All of me."

Dean opened the cover slowly, and began to read.

Cas patted his knee and stood. "I'm going to wander around the pow wow. Find me later?"

Dean looked up at him, a silhouette against the fading sun. Beautiful and familiar and everything Dean had ever wanted. "Okay, Cas."

Cas nodded and walked away.

...

_December 24_

_The doctor has been telling me that I need to keep track of my thoughts, any flashes of memory I think I'm having, in written form. She thinks it will help me organize them later, like a puzzle. I don't believe her, but Gabe bought me this journal for Christmas and now I've been guilted into following doctor's orders. _

_It's Christmas Eve. _

_I wonder what Dean is doing. I haven't seen him since I left the hospital. I wish I hadn't been so hard on him that last day. His face will haunt me for a long time._

The next part was scribbled over and Dean couldn't read it, no matter which way he twisted and turned the book. Two lines, totally blacked out. Dean grunted, frustrated, and continued to read.

_I think about Dean a lot, actually. I told him that I dreamed of him, saw his face, and that's true. Sometimes I wake up and there's something so close to the surface, on the edge of my conscious, but I can't grasp it, can't catch it before it floats away. _

_I wonder if that's Dean._

_December 26_

_I'm staying in my apartment in KC. Alone. Balthazar seems disappointed, assuming I'd stay with him, I suppose. But I can use public transportation until my driving restrictions are lifted, and I've been released from my position at KU for the time being, so...I'm not sure where I was going with that. That happens a lot lately. _

_I don't want to live with Balthazar. I was so sure when I woke up a few weeks ago, when I believed we were still together. I'm confused now. Some days I don't really like him that much at all, and I don't know why. Other times, I miss his coy smile and wicked wit. I was so crazy about him once, I do remember that. I remember being swept up in him, the mystery, his adventuresome spirit, the intrigue of sneaking around. Sometimes I wonder if that's all it ever was. Maybe that's why we were no longer together, why I was free to be with Dean. _

_Mostly I wonder if I made a horrible mistake by leaving the hospital the way I did, turning Dean away and embracing the familiar instead of investigating the unknown. I haven't heard from Dean... I sort of thought I would. Maybe it's for the best. _

The next few entries were shopping lists and television show reminders. Dean wondered how long Cas stayed in that penthouse, locked away from family and friends. And Dean. Wondering what he was forgetting, had forgotten, watching TV and avoiding life. He wished that he had known Cas wanted him to call; it pierced Dean, harsh and bitter, to know that they may have wasted so much time. Dean decided to skip all of the boring list entries and concentrate on the personal ones, anticipation building as he read.

_January 12_

_Dean's eyes are bright, grass green in the sunlight._

_January 15_

_I dreamed about a dog last night. I wonder if we had a dog? It was a yellow lab and it's tail beat against my leg, thumping in time to his happy bark when I got home from work. Dean was in the kitchen, laughing, calling the dog...but I can't remember the name. _

_I've never had a dog before. I wonder if this was real?_

_January 24_

_Today is Dean Winchester's birthday. He is 34. _

_I don't know how I know that._

_January 30_

_Balthazar has been taking me to the movies, there's a theater near here that shows the classics on the weekend. He's very sweet and attentive. Sometimes he's so careful of his phrasing, I can tell that he's being cautious, that he doesn't want to screw up. I want to scream, just let it happen, or let it die. _

_That sounds harsh, but I feel harsh. My head is hurting again and I'm not sleeping well. My bed in this apartment is huge. _

_There's beer in my refrigerator. I don't recognize the label._

_February 2_

_Anna brought me a photo today. It's of me and Dean, at her engagement party. Dean...he looks gorgeous. If I am being totally honest (and I suppose I can be, this is my journal and no one will ever see it but me) I get butterflies when I look at his face. His smile lights up the photograph. I can see that he loves me. _

_Me. _

_I recognize Dean...but I don't recognize me._

_Because I'm looking at him the same way. _

The photograph was tucked into this page, a placeholder. It was a real photo, not the newspaper clipping that Dean still had hanging on the wall behind the register at Joe's. Written on the back in neat, feminine handwriting was "Dean and Cas" along with the date of the party. Dean lightly touched their faces. They were painful to look at, these two men. They were so clearly in love, and it broke Dean's heart. He tucked it carefully between two blank pages in the back of the book.

_February 14_

_This is a horrid excuse for a holiday. I'm skipping it._

_February 22_

_I've been doing so much better with the small tasks. I even went to the grocery without a list yesterday. Of course, I forgot milk, and bread, but I came back with enough food that I shouldn't have to leave for a few days. I am_

_I'm back now. Gabriel just called and he's forcing me to leave tomorrow, to go with him to a bar or something. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to drink alcohol with my migraine medicine, so I'll either have to stay sober (a fucking sad state of affairs) or I'll have to forego the meds for the day. I hope I don't wake up with a headache tomorrow. _

_I haven't dreamed of Dean in a while._

_February 23_

_I have a headache. _

_February 25_

_I dreamed of Dean last night. He was sweeping the floor in a bar (Joe's?) and singing an old Van Morrison song. This is probably just a garden variety dream because I already "know" he owns a bar, and I heard that song on the radio yesterday. It's a sad song, I think it's about dying. It's called Into the Mystic and I bought it on Itunes as soon as I figured out how to update the version I had installed on my computer. _

_So the dream is probably fiction, but I love that song. Maybe it's not about dying at all. The longer I listen to it, the more I think it's about falling in love, and staying together. _

_February 27_

_Dean has a freckle behind his left knee. _

_March 3_

_My driving restriction was lifted. Gabe and I shopped for a new car yesterday and I bought a hybrid. It's supposed to be good on gas mileage and very efficient. It's rather boring. I looked at classic cars on ebay and craigslist for a long time this week in anticipation. _

_Dean drives a 1967 black Chevy Impala. _

_That is one sexy ass car._

Dean smirked. He agreed; Baby was totally a sexy ass car.

_March 8_

_I went to Joe's, Dean's bar last night. It was foolish, probably. I don't really remember more than I did in December, the last time I saw Dean, and I've been telling myself this whole time that it wouldn't be fair to him, to start something that I don't have the confidence I can finish. _

_And yet, I'm drawn to him. His face is always in the back of my mind. Sometimes when I wake up at night, I can hear his laughter ringing clear in my ears. I'm a little afraid of what will happen when I lose that, through normal memory loss; but I don't seem to be losing daily things as often anymore. _

_I still have to make a grocery list though. I forgot milk again. _

_Oh. Dean wasn't at Joe's. I sat in the back in a booth for a long while, but he never came. The floor is the same as my dream; I guess that one was real._

_March 15_

_Ellen Harvelle is kind and warm. Her pies are amazing. _

_I knew that when I woke up this morning. Like it had always been there, just waiting for me to think it._

_March 20_

_Spring. _

_March 24_

_I had one of those dreams last night where I wake up so hot and aching for Dean that I had to take a cold shower. How can I want someone so badly, that I don't even know? Am I remembering? And fuck, if the sex was that amazing (dream sex with Dean always seems more incredible than any real sex I have ever had) I will never forgive myself for choosing Balthazar over him. Even if I meant it as a temporary reprieve until I figured out what the fuck I was going to do with my new lease on life. _

_I wonder if Dean understood that day, back in December, that I didn't mean to push him away so completely? I was afraid. No. Terrified. You try waking up in a different world, a different time, and finding that everything you know to be true is not, and that your heart races, yearns, fights for a face that you don't recognize. _

_Fuck. I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. _

_Maybe I should transcribe the contents of that dream instead. I would rather like to reread it when I'm feeling low. There would be many cold showers in my future if I did._

_I'm smiling right now. I don't know why I'm writing that, but it's important because I don't find myself doing that much these days. I think I need to get out of this house. Maybe I'll look for a new excavation or dig to join. _

_Sex with Balthazar was always fine. _

_I hope he never reads this. _

Dean snorted. He flipped through the rest of the pages quickly, but Cas must have never written down the contents of the dream. Damn. Dean would have liked to read it.

_March 27_

_I have decided that as charming and kind and amusing as Balthazar is, I am confident that I am not in love with him. It's funny, it felt so real at first, but over the past several weeks, he has seemed more distant and impatient and I am longing for something else, something I can't define. He feels wrong. That's the worst thing you can tell someone, when you break up, but since apparently we broke up a long time ago, I don't have much guilt about it. He found my confession rather humorous and laughed at me. He thinks I'll change my mind. That frustrates me. Actually, that has always frustrated me about Balthazar. He dismisses the real me, having created a Castiel in his mind that never existed. _

_I'm going to go to New Mexico with him regardless. I do miss working in the field and Gabe is right; I need to get out of this apartment. Bal took it as a sign that I was leaving a door open. I'm too tired to fight him on it. I really just like New Mexico and want to spend time in Chaco Canyon again. It's so peaceful and the pueblos are beautiful, some of my favorites. _

_April 1_

_I booked my own (separate) hotel reservations for the duration of my stay in New Mexico. _

_April 6_

_I went to dinner with Gabe at a new restaurant downtown. We saw Dean with a date while we were waiting to be seated, so we left for a new Thai place down the street. A part of me wanted to stay a little longer, just so I could memorize his face. It's getting foggier in my dreams. _

_He looked handsome. And happy._

_April 14_

_Balthazar took my phone at some point last night and deleted all of my text messages from Dean. I'm furious and heartbroken. I didn't read them often, but sometimes...sometimes they were the only link to a life I don't remember. Dean is funny and achingly sweet. I wish I could remember having those brief, electronic conversations, how they made me feel, but in a way, this was almost better, inimitable proof, and I could relive the thrill of discovering him whenever I wanted. _

_It was a cruel thing of Balthazar to do, and I can't forgive him. _

Dean closed the book, taking a deep breath. If Balthazar were here, Dean would pound his ass into the ground. What a heartless, vicious thing to do. Cas was remembering, sort of. Maybe not factual, explicit details, but he was remembering feelings, he was remembering that he loved Dean. Dean could almost understand Balthazar's plight, his frustration. To be the one Cas _thought_ he loved, the one with actual memories attached to the relationship, and for it to still not be enough. Dean was a phantom driving a wedge between them. Were he a more giving man, Dean might have more sympathy for Balthazar. But currently, he felt only bright anger and acute sorrow.

He walked to a nearby water fountain and took a long, cool drink. He could see a bonfire in the distance when he stood and wiped his mouth; the sounds of a drumbeat echoed deep and rhythmic. The sun was setting now, darkness beginning to cover the canyon. Soon, the celebration would begin in earnest. Dean returned to the bench to finish the book so he could find Cas before it got too dark.

_April 16_

_I leave for New Mexico tomorrow. I have been contemplating driving through Lawrence on my way out. I think I could find my way to Dean's house. I've seen the road many times in my head. I can see the little white house, a Craftsman. It has graduated pillars on the front porch, and the bedroom is painted green. I know the kitchen, I dream of it often. We must have spent a lot of time there. _

_I wonder what Dean would say if I showed up on his doorstep? I wonder about the wisdom of that, when I'm still so far removed from everything there. Maybe this NM move really is for the best. _

_I wonder how Dean's date went, if that was a first date, or if they had more. _

_April 17_

_I drove down Dean's street. There was a black Chevy Impala in a drive at a little white house and I had to pull over. I thought I was hyperventilating. _

_I didn't go to the door. _

_April 20_

_I love New Mexico. The arid climate and the beautiful scenery of the canyon is a balm to my broken soul. _

_Everything else feels very far away. _

_April 22_

_I have missed working. _

_Dean used to come to the dig site in Lawrence. He told me that, when I was in the hospital, but I remember it now. Some of it, at least. He cut his hand, and I bandaged it. I don't think we were together yet, because I remember being flustered and nervous, touching his warm skin and wanting to touch more of it. _

_I haven't had any flashes of memory in a long time. It was nice to get one today. _

_April 24_

_Bond and Free_

_Love has earth to which she clings  
With hills and circling arms about-  
Wall within wall to shut fear out.  
But Thought has need of no such things,  
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings._

On snow and sand and turf, I see  
Where Love has left a printed trace  
With straining in the world's embrace.  
And such is Love and glad to be.  
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom  
And sits in Sirius' disc all night,  
Till day makes him retrace his flight,  
With smell of burning on every plume,  
Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.  
Yet some say Love by being thrall  
And simply staying possesses all  
In several beauty that Thought fares far  
To find fused in another star.

_I've been reading a book of Robert Frost's poems before I go to bed each night. _

_This one reminds me of Dean. _

_May 3_

_Balthazar has accepted a position at USC in conjunction with an excavation in Baja. I wish him well. He thinks I will change my mind and go with him, but I am happy with my decision to leave this place at the end of the month. New Mexico has been a brief, but welcome respite. _

_I've been in touch with KU. I will be teaching adjunct again in the fall. I feel a thrill thinking that I will be in the same city as Dean again. And foolish. And scared out of my mind. _

_I wonder if he still dreams of me too?_

_What if six months was too long to wait? _

Dean hands were shaking when he closed the book. There were only a few more entries, but none could possibly be as profound as the last one. Cas had been planning to come back to Lawrence. To Dean.

Dean found him, on the edge of a circle of spectators, seated around a huge bonfire burning hot and bright, sparks of brilliant orange floating high against the blue-black of the night sky. The stars were so plentiful here at the canyon; it almost hurt to look up, Dean's mind unable to absorb the enormity of it.

Dean settled next to Cas on the ground, purposefully sitting too close, craving the warm contact of hip against hip, shoulder against shoulder.

"Did you know the Coquille tribe in Oregon allows same sex marriage?" Cas' eyes were fixed on the fire.

"I didn't know that," Dean said quietly. He took Cas' hand in his.

They dancers began to chant, circling the fire, their bright feathers and beads catching the red glow, throwing color and light across the audience with each stomp of the intricate dance.

Cas squeezed his fingers too tight, but Dean welcomed the pain. He was learning that beginnings were sometimes painful by necessity.

...


	21. Chapter 21

It was apparently impossible to get a room inside the park at the last minute. The girl at the reservation desk had actually laughed at him when Dean ran in to ask. So back to the Impala they went, following the line of slow-moving cars out of the park's gate and returning to Tusayan. Dean pulled under the awning at the Best Western for the second time in as many days.

Cas was out of the car before Dean had a chance to put it in park.

"Where are you going," Dean called through the open passenger door, but Cas was already pushing his way inside the lobby. Dean shifted on the seat, fiddling with the radio, waiting for Cas to come back, trying not to remember the awkward tension of the previous night.

Dean's restless mind bounced from one uneasy topic to another. He couldn't stop thinking about the journal; he wondered if Cas would allow him to reread it on occasion. There was something poignant and sweet in the way Cas had written about Dean; he may have lacked tangible moments, but his heart wouldn't let him forget.

Dean thought he might owe Cas' heart an awful lot for that.

You could never really know another's thoughts, no matter how long you were with them, but Cas had given that gift to Dean today. Now, Dean was caught between barreling forward as fast as possible and holding back, letting the anticipation and desire stretch between them as long as possible.

Mostly, Dean didn't want to screw up.

Cas returned, bending at the waist to peer through the car door. "All set."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason you shot out of here like a man on a mission?"

"Yes. I didn't want you fucking up the room thing again." Cas slammed the Impala door and made an oversized gesture, pointing to the empty motel parking spaces.

Dean rolled his eyes, but parked the car. He was still grumbling under his breath when he popped the trunk. "_I _didn't _say_ two rooms. _He _did_._"

"Because it sounded like you expected two rooms," Cas said, materializing at Dean's elbow.

Dean jumped. "Jesus, Cas. Make some noise. You almost gave me a heart attack." Dean self-consciously dropped the hand he had clutched to his chest, willing his heart to slow the fuck down. "And, for the _last time._ No. I didn't."

Cas grabbed his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. "Doesn't really matter, now does it? It was an expensive mistake that was entirely your fault." Dean started to protest but stopped at the even look Cas gave him, expression bland, the fluorescent lamppost casting a halo over his dark head. "We're not staying in separate rooms again, Dean."

Dean swallowed. Since he didn't have an argument against that (hell, he would _never_ have an argument against that), he shut the trunk and followed Cas into the motel.

It was a King room.

Cas didn't screw around when making a statement, Dean mused. The bossy professor called first shower and Dean stretched out on top of the mattress, flipping through the available channels. His heart was still beating a shade too fast; the oversize bed (and the fact that Cas was naked and wet just behind the bathroom door) made Dean fidgety and nervous. He grinned when his phone rang and he saw the caller's name.

"Sammy!"

"I thought you were going to call every day, asshole," Sam said affectionately.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, I got a little sidetracked."

"Uh huh." Sam's voice was tinged with amusement. "So...did your absent-mindedness have anything to do with Cas?"

Dean cleared his throat, glancing at the bathroom door. He could still hear the shower running. "Um, yeah. Cas is with me." Dean couldn't help the thrill he got from saying the words out loud. _Cas is with me._

"Thank God," Sam breathed, and Dean smiled, touched. He had never really considered how difficult it had been for those around him, forced to watch him try to live without Cas, try to survive. "I hope he made you grovel."

"Funny, Sam. Such a comedian."

Dean asked about Jo and the baby, and the bar. "I suppose I should check in with Bobby and Ellen."

"Nah," Sam chuckled. "They're having the time of their life. You may never get the bar back from Ellen. She's in her element."

Instead of protesting, as Sam expected him too, Dean was quiet, thoughtful. "Maybe I'll do something else with the rest of my life, then."

At the prolonged silence on the phone, Dean pulled it from his ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped. "You still there?"

"Still here. Just speechless. I never thought you would actually, you know, get a life of your own."

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said fondly.

"So...am I _interrupting_ anything?"

Dean closed his eyes. _Fuck his life._ "Oh my God, Sam. _No._" He could hear Jo in the background. _Are you? What did he say. Ohmygod, let me talk to him. _There was a rustle of sound, muffled movements.

"Dean Winchester, you bring him back right this instant. I mean it. I need to see Cas, I've missed him." Jo's voice was thick with emotion and Dean frowned.

"You all right Jo?"

Jo sniffed loudly and then Dean could tell the phone was being wrestled from her grasp. _Sam Winchester, you asshole— _ The rest was garbled; Sam must have covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Sorry about that. Pregnancy hormones," Sam said. He was more than a little breathless. Or possibly in pain.

"She kick you in the nuts?" Dean could commiserate. Jo was quick. And lethal.

"Not on purpose," Sam groaned.

Dean laughed. "That's what you think."

The bathroom door opened and a cloud of steam rolled into the room. "Hey, Sammy, I'm gonna jump in the shower. Tell Jo, uh," he looked at Cas self-consciously when he emerged from the bathroom toweling his hair. "Tell her we'll be home soon."

Dean set the phone carefully on the nightstand, avoiding Cas' eyes, neck hot and prickly.

Cas advanced to Dean's side of the bed and Dean scooted back. His eyes bugged when Cas didn't stop at the edge, but kept right on going, climbing on top of Dean, pushing him against the pillowed headboard. His skin was pink and flushed from the shower, jaw freshly shaven. Water droplets clung to his dark lashes, and Dean barely had time to suck in a quick breath before he lowered his face, only to pause one spare inch from Dean's. Dean grappled at his waist, skin bare and warm above the low-slung flannel pants. He smelled like shampoo and soap and _Cas_ and Dean's brain stumbled to a grinding halt.

Their breaths mingled as Cas hovered there, _so close_. If Dean licked his suddenly too-dry lips, his tongue would brush Cas' mouth. His fingers tightened their grasp.

"Cas," he whispered. Then Cas' lips were on his and he was kissing Dean, mouths colliding together with hunger and need and scorching heat. Dean was instantly, painfully hard, and he groaned when Cas shifted position, one knee grazing his groin.

"Was that Sam?" Cas' voice was rough, scraping every nerve ending in Dean's body. Dean lay panting and stunned beneath him, unable to answer, thoughts tumbling end over end.

His brain finally connected with his hands and he pushed his fingers through that wet, dark hair, pulling Cas down, trying to maneuver him flat and flush against him. He most definitely did not want to talk about his brother; he wanted back inside that searing mouth. Cas resisted, arms trembling with the effort to hold himself above Dean. He teased a light, lingering kiss over Dean's lips, and Dean groaned again, this time in frustration.

"Cas," he whined. He gave up, dropping against the headboard with a thud. "You're a cocktease," he breathed huskily.

Cas laughed darkly. "Take a shower, Dean. You stink."

Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. He ached against the strain of the rough denim of his jeans. He felt the soft, wet brush of a tongue across his bottom lip and he opened his mouth to let Cas dip inside again, the gentle dance and suction driving Dean a little crazy.

Then Cas was standing, taking all of his damp, heated skin and fucking _hot_ kisses with him, leaving Dean sprawled across the bed, breathing too hard, every cell screaming with desire.

Cas calmly picked up the ice bucket and the room key and walked to the door. "I'm going to get some ice."

Dean stared at the ceiling for a beat then exhaled, long and deep. "I guess I'm going to take a shower."

"Oh. I used all the hot water." Dean could hear the smirk in Cas' voice as he left the room. "Hopefully you're okay with cold."

Dean closed his eyes again. _Fuck._

_..._

Dean was shivering when he stepped out of the shower. Cas hadn't been exaggerating about using up all of the hot water.

At least his head was clear, he thought as he dressed. His mind skipped over the past few days, how different they had been from last week, last month. How different _he_ was, how three days could take him from blank, flat, devastated to...hopeful. He brushed his teeth, wiped down the sink and countertop.

He was stalling.

He stared at his reflection above the sink. When he left Lawrence, he had had no concrete plan. He had known he was either going to find Cas and figure out once and for all if their fractured relationship could ever be healed, or he was going to go find a new life, somewhere else.

Dean had never let himself imagine that he would find a happy ending; before he met Cas, he had never believed in happy endings anyway. Then Cas had gone and proved Dean wrong, right up until he had ultimately proven him right.

Now Dean was here, with Cas, on a cross-country journey of discovery, getting acquainted, falling in love. All over again. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike twice, or so Dean had always been told, but his heart was in vigorous disagreement. His chest burned, glowing with sentiment and passion whenever Cas was near, hearts reaching out, longing to connect.

Dean thought of the tenuous filament of thread he had imagined joined them, when Cas was sleeping after the accident, and Dean was hanging on to the spark that wavered between them, hanging on for dear life. The thread was still there, coiling around Dean and wrapping him up in its cocoon, urging him to let down his defenses and lower his guard.

When Dean finally screwed up the courage to leave the bathroom, he found Cas lying diagonally across the large bed, sound asleep. Dean smiled ruefully and rubbed a hand across his mouth. _Well that's just awesome._ Leave it to Dean to have a nervous breakdown in the bathroom and miss the first real opportunity he had had for sex in six months. With the object of his every fantasy, no less.

He checked the door latch, and returned to the bed. He paused, spotting a folded white square of paper on the nightstand. His heart dropped; it was folded in the same size and shape as the note he had let float away over the canyon rim.

His fingers trembled finely as he unfolded the scrap.

_Dean,_

_To replace the one you let go, this one untainted by lies and half truths. Put it in your pocket so that you will always have me at your fingertips, and I will always know I'm in your hands. _

_Cas_

_ps. I really did have hot sex dreams about you. Some day you and I are going to talk about that and sort out which parts were true. I might need you to demonstrate. _

Dean grinned and looked over at the dark head currently hogging all of the pillows in the center of the bed. He refolded the paper, carefully following the neatly pressed lines and laid it on the nightstand beside their phones. He stared at them thoughtfully, sneaking a glance at the sleeping form beside him. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and picked up Cas' phone, turning if off. Then he took his phone and began scrolling through his old text messages.

One by one, in chronological order, he forwarded every message he had sent to or received from Cas, stretching back to the days they first met.

When he was finished, he slipped under the blankets, crowding next to Cas. He didn't have much choice; Cas hadn't exactly left Dean a lot of room to work with. He lay propped on an elbow in the dark, gazing down at the strong, pale shoulders, bare above the sheets. Dean leaned over and kissed the soft skin over a shoulder blade, felt it twitch beneath his lips. He smiled when Cas mumbled something unintelligible then scooted back against Dean, even in sleep seeking contact.

Dean wiggled one of the pillows free from Cas' grasp and tucked it under his head, letting himself relax into the warmth of the body next to him. His last thoughts before sleep overtook him were of his earlier conversation with Sam, and how he hadn't been entirely telling the truth; in all the important ways, Dean was already home.

…

Dean woke to the sound of Cas' phone blowing up; hundreds of text messages delivered at once the instant Cas turned it on. Cas was staring down at the phone in his hand, handsome face a mixture of shock and awe, and what Dean recognized as deep affection. Dean stretched, yawning, and smiled into the blue, blue eyes that suddenly loomed over him.

"Good mor—" Dean's greeting was cut off by a mouthful of grateful, sexy professor.

"Thank you," Cas said when he lifted his head to suck in a quick breath.

Dean let himself be pressed down into the mattress and kissed again, soundly, one arm pinned under the sheet, the other tangled in one of Cas' hands, as the phone beeped between their palms.

Cas chuckled at the incessant sound. He moved to stand, and Dean protested against his jaw, where his mouth had wandered of its own volition.

"Stay," he mouthed against the sandpapery skin.

Cas tilted his head, giving him more access. Dean kissed as far as he could reach, still essentially trapped with the exception of his head. Which was okay; Dean grinned as he thought of all the damage he could with just his tongue. He grunted in frustration when Cas rolled to sit beside him on the bed. The phone had finally stopped and Cas was scrolling through the messages, soft smile on his face.

Dean threw back the sheets and sat up, ignoring a very, _very_, excited appendage. He read over Cas' shoulder, smiling at the carefree exchanges, when they had everything and didn't know it. Or maybe Dean _had_ known, he just hadn't known it would come so close to killing him before it was over.

"God, I loved you," Dean said, remembering.

Cas glanced back, surprised. "You," he bit his lip. "Past tense?"

Dean could feel new tension in Cas' back and he rested his chin on the other man's shoulder. He rubbed his jaw lightly against the bare skin. "I thought that's what we were doing," he finally said, voice low, cautious. "Figuring that part out."

Cas was silent, scrolling through the messages. He touched a button to close the window and lowered the phone to his lap. He turned to press a kiss against Dean's cheek.

"Arches National Park?"

Dean studied his face, too close, too warm, too handsome. Too everything Dean had ever desired. He ached all the way to his bones, and decided once, _just for_ _fucking once_, he could take something for himself. He brought a hand to the back of Cas' head and kissed him, gentle at first, tongues touching, then darting away only to seek each other out again as the heat increased exponentially with each small sound from Cas' throat.

Breathing heavily, Dean rested his forehead against Cas'. "Present tense, Cas," he whispered, eyes closed.

Cas kissed him gently, sighing into his mouth. "Thank God."

Dean chuckled and lay back down against the pillows. He was suddenly exhausted again. Emotional toll had a powerful draining effect on his energy level it would seem.

"Uh uh," Cas shook his head. "Get your fine ass out of bed, Winchester."

Dean closed his eyes. "Just one more hour, Cas," he wheedled, snuggling beneath the blanket. He yelped when the covers were ripped from the bed. His hands covered his groin, the effect of waking up next to Cas, especially a Cas who kissed like a fucking porn star, still strong and very much present.

Cas pointedly looked at Dean's barely covered crotch. "Maybe you should take another cold shower so we can get on the road."

Dean scowled. "You're really not a gentleman, are you?"

Cas raised his eyebrows. "I've been told my manners are quite refined." He leaned over Dean suddenly and God help him, but Dean actually squeaked. "Now. Get. Up."

Feeling wicked and hot and a hundred and one degrees of sexually frustrated, Dean caught Cas hand and pressed it against his hardness. His eyelids fluttered at the sensation of Cas touching him. "This _is_ up, Cas," he rasped.

Cas froze, looking at their joined hands. Dean flushed. Could he be more crude? Jesus.

Then Cas' hand dipped lower, cupping him and Dean's eyes _did_ roll back in his head. Cas pushed his hand below the waistband of Dean's boxers and the first touch of naked palm on his sensitive skin was exquisite. Dean whimpered; he could hear himself, but he had totally lost control.

Cas stroked him, shifting his position so he could straddle Dean's legs, changing his angle so his hand was more perfectly fitted around Dean's cock. He used his other hand to push Dean's flannel pants and boxers down, out of the way. Dean hissed at the brush of cool air across his heated skin.

Cas leaned down to kiss his neck, sucking too hard and Dean's hips jerked in response. "I wanted the first time to be my mouth, Dean," he said against the skin over Dean's collarbone.

"Wait," Dean squeaked again, pushing Cas' hand away, "Cas, wait."

They lay frozen, Dean panting and exposed, Cas hovering, eyes intent on Dean's face, his hand paused, wrist gripped hard in Dean's fist.

"I'm literally _crying_ here," Dean joked, breathless. "But you're right."

"About my mouth?" Cas head cocked in confusion and Dean groaned. _Great. Now there's an image that would torture him for the next long while._

"No," Dean took a deep, steadying breath and released Cas' wrist. He pulled his boxers and pants back into place. Then he grinned sardonically. "Er, yes. Please."

Cas sat up on Dean's thighs. "I don't understand you, Dean Winchester."

Dean scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning. He was still hard enough to pound nails. "Me neither." He pushed up, too far into Cas' personal space and loving the way Cas didn't move away. He cupped Cas' backside. "Not to sound like a goddamn girl, but I want the timing to be right. Perfect."

Cas' mouth lifted in the ghost of a grin. "I remember that about you," he said softly. He ruffled his fingers through Dean's messy bed hair. "I didn't know if it was real."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, ducking his head. His cheeks were warm again. Goddamn beautiful boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) and his vitally important compliments that had been sorely missing from Dean's life.

Cas dropped a kiss to his head. "Get up then. We'll drive through Canyonlands on the way. You can pretend you're John Wayne." He squeezed Dean's thigh. "Just... get up. You're making me feel like a man whore because all I really want to do is fuck you senseless."

Dean's head jerked up but Cas was off him and striding across the room. "We can do that. Cas! We can totally do that!"

Cas was already out the door, ice bucket in hand.

Which was a good thing; Dean might need to pour the contents down his pants.

...


	22. Chapter 22

His name was Giovanni, and he was beautiful. Dean had never really considered another man under that descriptor before he met Cas, but Gio would definitely fall into the 'more than simply handsome' category. And he only had eyes for Cas.

Gio was a trail guide for Back Country Trailheads, serving visitors of Zion National Park. In particular, he led overnight expeditions exploring The Narrows, one of the world's most beautiful slot canyons. Although Dean was not an experienced hiker, he was powerless to resist the light in Cas' eye as he watched him discuss available hiking opportunities with a park ranger in the visitor center. On the ranger's advice, they decided to join Gio's next group, seven men and women, who would hike down the North Fork Virgin river and into the gorge where the narrow, sandstone walls rose up one hundred feet overhead. On the first day, they would hike into the canyon and camp for the night, emerging the next day at the Temple of Sinawava in Zion.

Dean had to buy appropriate footwear; Cas secretly added Hostess apple and cherry pies to a tin of snacks in his backpack.

When they first met Giovanni at the Chamberlain's Ranch trailhead, Dean was amused by the guide's hero worship for the handsome professor he discovered in his newest group of hikers. Gio had read some obscure article Cas had written for the American Journal of Physical Anthropology, and recognized his name immediately. Dean's amusement had worn thin by the third time the younger man had needlessly touched Cas.

Gio had recently graduated, with a double major in zoology and anthropology. He couldn't be a minute over twenty-three, and his smoothly muscled skin glowed deep and bronze in the midday sun when he took off his shirt. He had rich, chocolate brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Dean had ever seen, and his black hair was shaggy and stylishly unkempt; it reminded Dean of Sam. When he smiled effusively at Cas, Dean scowled at the perfect white evenness of his teeth.

God. Dean really couldn't seem to catch a break.

It didn't help that Cas stepped so effortlessly into professor mode, a natural teaching ability highlighted in his kind eyes and encouraging smile as he and Gio discussed the local flora and fauna (while Dean wasn't sure which was plant and which was animal, or if animal was even a choice).

Dean ended up hiking alone, trailing behind them and feeling left out. He missed a good portion of the first several miles stewing in a haze he knew was unadulterated jealousy. For which he felt absolutely ridiculous; Gio was a kid. A gorgeous kid, yes, but Cas wasn't going to throw Dean over for a twenty-three year old boy with a velvet voice and pretty eyes.

Was he?

Dean was crabby and wet (most of the hike was technically _in _the riverbed, meaning they were submerged anywhere from ankle to knee for most of the trail), hungry and frustrated. He resented the fact that Gio had effortlessly earned a belly laugh from Cas twice in the last half hour. Actually, he resented a lot of things; the squishy wetness of his socks, the hunger that gnawed at his belly, the headache the loomed behind his left eye. Mostly he resented the firm, shapely ass of the recent collegian in front of him, currently holding Cas' forearm to help him navigate a boulder mid-stream.

Gio reluctantly left to mingle with the other hikers as they approached the first pass into the gorge. He waved dismissively at Dean, but the smile he directed at Cas was private and soft. _Sonofabitch_.

Cas was humming a tuneless song when Dean caught up to him. His smile was so brilliant that Dean felt a smattering of guilt; Cas was having the time of his life. And Dean was being an asshole.

"That's a talented young man," Cas said, stomping all over Dean's momentary remorse.

"Mmm," Dean said noncommittally, pursing his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing, Dean." Cas held out a hand to steady him when Dean stumbled in the water. Dean ignored it. Cas stopped, cocking his head. "Are you jealous?"

Dean focused on the river beneath him and the distribution of the weight of the pack on his back. "Nope."

He kept trudging through the water.

"Yes you are," Cas said calmly, catching up to him with ease. Stupid graceful handsome fucker.

"No, I'm really not."

"Mmm hmmm."

"I'm not!" Dean took a deep breath. The couple in front of them looked over their shoulder at Dean curiously.

"You don't have to stay with me, you know. I'm probably holding you back, so you just go on ahead and discuss fish and rocks and whatever with the boy wonder. If you want."

Cas pressed his lips together and Dean had a sneaking suspicion he was hiding a smile.

"Stop smiling."

Cas held up his hands in defense and schooled his face. "Okay." His eyes were serious as he watched Dean.

"What now," Dean sighed.

"Nothing."

"No, don't _nothing _me. Stop looking at me like that."

"Are you hungry?"

"What," Dean asked, thrown by the sudden shift in topic.

"You seem like you might need a snack. You're bitchy."

Oh. So it wasn't a change in topic after all, Dean thought grumpily. "No. I'm fine," he lied.

Dean stepped in a hole beneath the churning water, falling hard into Cas' side. Cas' arms wrapped tight around him, keeping him upright. Dean froze when Cas spoke low against his ear. "You can't possibly be thinking what it seems like you're thinking, Dean."

Dean's heart fluttered at the words, but he scowled, the sting of rejection and loss still too close, too recent. He shoved Cas' arms away. "You could've fooled me," he said, a current of bitterness lacing through the words.

They stood in the rushing water staring at each other, the noonday sun beating hot and bright, hurting Dean's eyes. Or maybe that was Cas' face, which fell at Dean's cold tone.

Cas was the first to look away, hesitating before he began walking down the riverbed again.

...

Dean was left to stew in his own jealousy-infused juices as they continued down into the gorge. Cas didn't return to Gio, but he didn't walk with Dean either. He stayed just out of Dean's reach, making conversation impossible, had Dean stopped clinging to his own insecurities long enough to attempt it. Dean was trying, really he was. It was torture having to walk behind Cas, watching his graceful movements, knowing with each step he was wasting the precious minutes that they could have been sharing in their exquisite surroundings.

And it _was_ beautiful. Dean had had no idea such natural splendor existed. It was otherworldly. The combination of green, green forest and brightly hued sandstone was enchanting; the face of the canyon walls, shooting high above them, jewel-like where the sun sparkled off the surface.

He suddenly missed Cas' incessant clicking of the little cardboard camera. That was the moment he stopped feeling sorry for himself and started paying attention to what was right in front of his face. Cas, he noticed, was somber, carefree laughter and quick smiles gone, the line of his shoulders no longer as precise, his brow tense above eyes that carefully avoiding looking in Dean's direction.

He had hurt Cas, and the knowledge sliced through him in a stinging stab of guilt. His stupid petty jealousy had taken Cas' joyful day and pissed all over it. If he could, Dean would have kicked his own ass. He caught up to the other man just as they entered a dark narrowing of the canyon, an enchanting waterfall waiting at the other end.

The hikers were huddled around Gio, snapping photos of the falls, fairy-like mists rising to evaporate into the fresh green of the trees above. Gio explained that North Fork Falls had been created when, over time, the river had forced a collection of boulders and logs into the bend. Dean came up behind Cas, and quietly placed a hand around his waist.

Cas tensed but he didn't move away and Dean let out the breath he had been holding. It was painful, navigating the beginning of everything with Cas again; sometimes he forgot how scary and unsure he had been in the first days. Dean was often a coward and sometimes a jerk, but mostly his problem was that he loved absolutely and had a deeply ingrained fear of being left behind.

The group finished their snapshots and continued around the bend in the river, past the falls. Gio waited at the curve, smiling ahead of him, but still in clear view of Dean and Cas. Dean could practically read the kid's mind; he had spent enough time with his other paying customers that now he could concentrate on Cas for a while again, without seeming overly attentive. He sighed to himself. Gio was harmless. And Dean was tired of being a dick. He dropped his hand from where it rested on Cas' hip and stepped back. It was the extent of the permission he could handle giving; Cas could have his nerdy anthropology walk with the handsome young guide. Dean would always be the one waiting at the end of the trail to take Cas home.

He moved to walk around Cas, and nearly fell when Cas grabbed his elbow, yanking him roughly back.

"Cas—"

But Cas was kissing him, long and hot and desperate, pulling on the straps of Dean's backpack until their chests were flush, rising and falling in tandem with each inhalation.

Dean lost himself in it, let Cas kiss away his anxiety. When they separated, Gio was gone.

"Way to make a statement, Cas," he whispered, kissing him once more, clinging, soft.

"I thought you needed a big gesture." Cas' smile was apologetic and Dean ached, intense and jagged, in the region of his heart.

"I'm sorry," he began but Cas stopped him with a finger to his lips.

"I forgot," Cas said quietly, eyes serious. "It's so easy for me to forget what it was like for you."

Dean closed his eyes against the burn behind his eyelids. He was _not_ going to get emotional standing in a river underneath a mystical waterfall in a forest. It was too Lord of the Rings.

"Please, don't apologize, Cas," he said. He opened his eyes again and smiled softly. "I'm still an asshole sometimes. I know you probably don't remember, and I wish I could take advantage of that, but I won't. I can be a dick, and I'm jealous as fuck when anyone even looks at you sideways."

Cas snorted. "Okay." He tilted his head, grinning. "What do you suggest we do about that?"

"Lock you up somewhere only I have the key? Make you wear a bag over your head in public?" Dean pulled their hips together. "I can think of plenty of ways to keep you to myself and away from handsome fucks like Gio." He narrowed his eyes. "You could help too, by not encouraging him, you know."

"Would you have me ignore every pretty boy," Cas smirked, "or _girl, _that crosses my path?"

"Yes," Dean said crossly, squeezing Cas' waist with too much pressure, fingers digging in possessively.

Cas grinned. "Dean."

"No, Cas. Don't _Dean_ me." Dean held him close, backpack buckles clicking together. "I don't like the way he looks at you," he said roughly.

Cas leaned forward to breathe into his ear, "I want _you,_ Dean. No one else."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, but you're gorgeous. Everyone wants you." He was pouting and he knew it. "I don't like it. And he's fucking gorgeous too, so I get it, okay," he added obstinately.

Cas cocked one eyebrow. "So, are you giving me permission to ogle the hot guide or should I be the one worried, here? Because now I'm confused."

Cas' tone held the barest hint of irritation, so Dean reacted with action as well as words. He backed him against the canyon wall, cool and damp from the overspray, and held him there, hip to hip. Cas' lips parted in surprise.

"Gio could prance buck naked through here right fucking now, promising blow jobs and beer, and I _still_ wouldn't want him," Dean growled before he kissed him, too hard and frantic at first, then softer, gentling the grind of his hips, the hard grip of his fingers. Cas had rarely clung, even in their previous life, but Dean felt desperation in his movements now. He realized that his little fit of pique had affected Cas in ways he hadn't expected, that neither of them had expected.

Dean rested against him, placing slow kisses to his top lip, the corner of his mouth, an apology, affectionate and tender. "No one, Cas. Ever. There's just never going to be anyone else for me." He thought of Cas' journal, the dinner date he had witnessed. "I tried," Dean whispered. "I tried to forget you, replace you."

The words were honest and heartfelt and Cas winced; they were a quiet request for forgiveness, but they still cut deep. "I couldn't," Dean continued, moving his lips along the rough jaw, mouthing at the sharp edge, smoothing down the bare skin of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss against his Adam's apple, thinking of all the times he had done it before, and all the times he had grieved, thinking he would never be able to do it again.

"You, Cas," he breathed against his mouth. "It's you."

And then Cas was kissing him again, his tongue chasing Dean's, coaxing it back into his mouth when it darted teasingly away.

"This would be a hell of a lot sexier if I wasn't standing in ass cold water," Dean complained, shivering, although not entirely from the temperature in the river; Cas was a potent kisser and Dean battled butterflies any time he touched him with that shapely mouth.

"Are you saying my kissing technique is lacking?" Cas applied a particularly evil flick of tongue to accompany his words.

"Even your amazing mouth can't distract me from wet socks, Cas," Dean lied.

Cas sucked an earlobe between his teeth and grabbed Dean's butt in both hands, offering a quick squeeze. "I'll have to see if I can make it up to you later."

...

They stopped for the night just a few miles further, after the Virgin river converged with Deep Creek and the canyon opened up into a spectacular vista that left Dean feeling rather insignificant about his place in the world. Dean, Cas and three others were instructed to set up camp at a brightly painted marker indicating the spot was 'Campsite 8'; the other members of their party would be ten minutes on the opposite side of the river at 'Campsite 7'. Dean, mollified though he may be by Cas' attentions, was aggravated to note Giovanni would be setting up his tent at number eight too.

Cas, knack of reading Dean's emotions unerringly intact, responded by pulling Dean's one-person popup tent close to the opening of his own, creating a domed nest.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he watched him struggle to get the openings aligned perfectly. "What the hell are you doing," he asked, voice tinged in fondness despite his lingering temper.

Cas winked. "No separate beds, Dean."

Dean flushed, but let himself be dragged into the tiny structure to _test it out._

As darkness fell and evening sounds filled the campsite, the hikers began to turn in. It had been a long day and everyone, Dean included, was happy to call it an early night. After the heat of the day, he was surprised to discover the temperatures dropping rapidly; he was glad for Cas' body heat, regardless of the silly fabricated igloo he was going to be forced to sleep in.

Cas had no such qualms about their sleeping arrangement.

"No one can even see our tent, Dean." Each individual or couple was separated by at least several feet of forest or canyon floor.

"Mmm hmmm. I'm pretty sure your boyfriend did a walk through a few minutes ago. I heard footsteps creeping by in the leaves."

"A. He's not my boyfriend," Cas said, unzipping Dean's sleeping bag. His eyebrows hit his hairline when Cas climbed inside of it, lying comfortably on top of him. "And B. That was probably a bear."

"Not helping," Dean gasped when Cas shifted so that Dean had no prayer of hiding the rather embarrassing state of affairs below his waist.

"What? Do you mean this?" Cas rolled his hips once, dropping his head to mouth at Dean's bare collarbone. "Never wear shirts, Dean," he mumbled against his skin. "Are you afraid of bears?" He nibbled up his neck.

"Ahhh," Dean bit his lip, abandoning all hope of following Cas' attempts at conversation at this point. _Goddammit_, the man instinctively knew every fucking last one of his kinks.

"Hmmm?" Cas had worked his way to Dean's ear now.

"Fuck," Dean barely contained a groan, hearing a rustle in the undergrowth outside the tent again. "You gotta stop, man. There are people sleeping right out there," he whispered, half-heartedly waving an arm in the general direction of _there_.

"I'm surprised at you," Cas whispered back. "I would have thought you much more—" he paused to suck hard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and Dean nearly swallowed his tongue with the effort to remain silent.

"Adventuresome," Cas finished, licking the dark mark he had left on Dean's skin.

"Fuckfuckfuck," Dean panted softly, parting his thighs enough that Cas could sink more comfortably between them. "What are you doing to me, Professor?" As questions go, he didn't really expect an answer, but Cas gave one anyway, whispering it against his skin as he kissed his torso.

"I'm making love to you, Dean, in the middle of the wilderness." He flung the edge of the sleeping bag aside so he had more room to maneuver, sliding his mouth along the ridges of muscle as he traveled down Dean's stomach. "Because I can't fucking wait another minute."

Dean whimpered when Cas licked a stripe from his navel to his hip.

"But Dean," Cas warned, lifting his head and waiting until Dean met his eyes.

"What, _God,_ what," Dean whispered back, hands tugging at Cas' hair.

"You'll have to be _very quiet_." Cas grinned wickedly, reddened lips hovering above the waist of Dean's pajama pants.

"You're going to kill me," Dean moaned, pushing Cas' head lower, wondering how much he would really care in the morning if it happened that the other hikers _did_ hear them.

Cas laughed softly, obeying Dean's insistent hands. He carefully peeled the pants and boxers off of his hips, negotiating their small space. Dean had to lift his knees so there was still room for both of them, but even then it was a tight fit. "Cas," he whispered, threading his fingers through his dark hair. "C'mere."

But Cas ignored him, kneeling between his knees, running graceful hands down his thighs. He traced a finger down the length of Dean's cock and it jumped. He smiled up at him, effectively destroying him with the words, "I've dreamed about doing this."

His head descended, mouth fitting just so, fist finding a rhythm sliding from base to tip and back again, and Dean was falling, falling, falling, biting his cheek hard enough to bleed, desperately holding back the sounds that wanted to erupt from his throat. He shook his head from side to side, knowing he wouldn't last, not like this, not with all of that hot, wet suction pulling him too quickly down its tunnel, the build too much, too good. _Holy fuck_. He cupped Cas' cheeks gently and pulled him off, holding the lovely jaw with shaking fingers. "Baby, you gotta stop, I can't," he shook his head again, swallowing hard. "It's too fast. Please," Dean was pleading now, out of breath, and Cas' eyes softened. He turned his face to press a kiss into Dean's palm, letting himself be pulled up to lie between his legs again, mouths meeting, sealing together in a tender kiss.

Dean's cock pulsed hot between them, damp from Cas' mouth, and he thought it was possibly the most exquisite torture he could ever imagine. He worked one hand between them, stroking Cas' hardness in the narrowest of gaps, then pushed at his waistband.

"Take these off," he whispered.

"Ask nicely," Cas returned against his cheek, where he had landed while Dean had grappled with maintaining control.

"Cas," Dean whined.

"Say please, Dean." And _holy Mary mother of Christ,_ the sex voice; Dean could come from the sex voice alone, but it was too loud and he knew it had carried far beyond the reaches of their little domed dwelling.

"Shhh," Dean shushed him, chuckling, then relented. "Please, baby. Get naked for me."

Cas snorted softly but began to wiggle and twist on top of him, forcing Dean to bite into his lip again, until he worked his pajama pants to his knees. "_Naked_ naked probably isn't the best option," Cas whispered. "Because of _bears._"

"Will you stop saying that?" Dean was sixty percent sure Cas was fucking with him about the bears, but just in case, he didn't kick his pants free. Oh no, this was much better, he thought sarcastically; if they were suddenly attacked, both he and Cas would be forced to stumble from the tent with their pants around their ankles and their junk flapping free.

"Dean," Cas whispered, closing his eyes when he slid into place, flush again. He kissed Dean's jaw, eyes too dark in the shadows for Dean to see the blue. "Touch me."

For the second time that day, for the thousandth time in his life, Dean was powerless to resist him.

He rolled them cautiously to the side, and the right side of the popup tent bowed; Dean wiggled backward until he had them both facing each other in a less precarious position. He pushed Cas' boxers lower, wishing like hell they were in that giant bed back in the Best Western. The ground was hard; Dean was going to have one hell of a stiff back come morning.

Cas' hands rested on his waist as he waited for Dean to make the next move. Dean swallowed hard. His hands trembled when they reached for him, and Cas' eyes fluttered closed on a soft sigh at the first glancing touch of Dean's fingers. Dean was thankful for the tiny space because he didn't have to move far to find Cas' mouth, needing more contact.

Cas' hand closed around him too, matching Dean's pace and movements and they lay there, pressed close together, synced, until Dean could feel the coil of heat building deep within his gut.

"Cas," Dean panted against his lips. "We're going to—" His breath hitched.

"_Yes,_" Cas chuckled darkly, "we _are._"

Dean grinned. Only Cas could make him want to laugh in the throes of sex, and it still be hot as hell. His hand paused and Cas growled against his neck.

"Dean." He twisted his wrist in a move Dean had nearly forgotten and Dean had to scrunch his eyes tightly shut.

"Towel? Please God, tell me you have a towel in that backpack," Dean pleaded on a whimper.

Cas blinked, hand stilled. "I don't think so." He lowered his head to tongue at the hollow in his throat. "We'll just use your shirt."

"We're not using my –" Dean forgot to whisper and Cas covered his mouth with his own to silence him.

Dean wiggled free, being careful to keep his voice low. "We're not using my shirt to, to—" God help him, but he couldn't finish and he blushed, hard.

"Clean up your come?" Cas provided dryly.

"Shhh," Dean whispered. "I didn't pack an extra and I'm not wearing that tomorrow, not after you _clearly _didn't grasp the whole _'be silent'_ part of having sex in the middle of the woods surrounded by campers."

Cas shrugged and bit into the smooth, toned skin of Dean's chest. "So don't wear a shirt." His fist closed around Dean, aligning their cocks and caressing them together languidly. "Just shut the fuck up and get your hands back on me."

Dean shuddered at the sensations. "Mmmm," he licked his lips. "You're doing just fine, maybe I'll relax here and let you do all the work." He let his head fall onto his arm.

Cas' grip tightened and he increased the pace. "I can do that."

But Dean couldn't remain still for long, he had wanted Cas, wanted _this, _his body craving it from the last moment they had been together until now, and the passion had never waned, never cooled. He wondered if it ever would. His hand joined Cas' and they worked together in a dance of fingers, damp and heated, hard and soft. Cas' mouth closed over his in a deep kiss, swallowing Dean's moans when his orgasm hit him, tumbling him into bliss first. Cas followed, shuddering as Dean wrung every last ounce of pleasure from him.

"_Fuck_, Cas," Dean breathed. He ran his hands across Cas' back, pulling him close. Their skin stuck together and he smiled. They were most definitely going to have to use his t-shirt. He caught his mouth again. Cas still tasted like _Cas,_ and his body still felt the same, deliciously fitting against Dean's, two halves of the same mold, too perfect, too long apart.

Cas was trailing small kisses along his jaw, his cheek, covering Dean's eyelids and lips then feathering away. "I liked that," he whispered, rolling Dean to his back so that he had more access.

Dean snorted, breathless and insanely happy. "Me too."

He carded his fingers through Cas' hair, guiding his mouth back to his. "Now clean me up, Professor, so I can get some sleep."

Cas grinned. "So does that mean you're not going to wear a shirt tomorrow?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Dean bit back a laugh.

"How about I wear yours, and you be _my_ eye candy."

Cas cocked his head. "You're not worried our illustrious guide won't be able to restrain himself at my magnificence?"

Dean groaned. "Wow, Cas. Low blow."

Cas snickered, kicking his pants off, freeing his legs. Then he sat up and pulled Dean's legs free too.

Dean froze. "Wait!"

"What?" Cas' brow was wrinkled in consternation.

"Bears," Dean whispered ferociously, hit with a swift, clear vision of he and Cas sprinting ass naked across the forest, pursued by a grizzly.

Cas' laughter rang out, vivid and joyful and clear, and Dean knew without a doubt their cover was blown.

And in a tent across the campsite, a handsome young guide rolled his eyes and cut his losses.

...


	23. Chapter 23

**_Gabe: _**_What are you wearing?_

Dean grinned. He was waiting for Cas to come back with lunch. They had driven through Utah and lower Wyoming, and were now in the Grand Tetons, the name of which never failed to amuse Dean. Dean had finally refused to look at one more trail, lake or moose without sustenance, so Cas had taken the Impala to the Jenny Lake Lodge dining room to charm them into packing a picnic.

Dean figured, based on Cas' insane popularity with _everyone ever_, he was going to return with a veritable feast. Dean waited at a picnic table on the east shore of Jenny Lake.

**_Dean: _**_Nothing. Nothing at all._ _You?_

**_Gabe:_**_Wonder Woman Chuck's and a goatee._

Dean chuckled, grimacing at the vivid and unwanted visual. Great. Well, maybe he could use the image to cool his raging libido when Cas refused to keep his fucking hands to his fucking self in public.

**_Gabe: _**_But seriously, homefry. How's my boy?_

Dean considered for a moment, then typed, _Perfect. _His cheeks were warm, but he didn't care. Although at times they were unsteady and cautious, Dean knew he and Cas were finally finding their way back to each other. It felt real, and solid.

**_Gabe: _**_I just threw up in my mouth._

**_Gabe:_**_Could you be any more disgustingly sweet? Jesus Christ._

**_Gabe: _**_Why aren't you answering me? Where's that famous Dean Winchester filthy mouth. BUT NOT THAT KIND._

**_Gabe: _**_Wait. You're not having sex right now, are you?_

Dean laughed again. The funniest response would be no response at all, letting Gabe stew in silence.

**_Dean: _**_Actually, yes. We are. Cas says hello. And that he's naked too._

**_Gabe:_**_OMG. Stop._

**_Dean:_**_Not yet, I'm not quite..._

**_Gabe_**_: SERIOUSLY. STOP THAT._

**_Gabe: _**_So, you're a shit and ignored my tale of caution and woe and have been riding my brother like a rhinestone cowboy this whole time haven't you._

**_Dean: _**_Your brother is VERY athletic._

**_Gabe:_**_I never want to talk to you again._

Dean was still chuckling when Cas climbed from the car with two large white bags.

"Score," Dean whistled appreciatively. "Do I want to know what you had to promise to accomplish this?"

Cas set the bags on the picnic table and bent over, meeting Dean's upturned face, kiss lingering. "Mmmm. Missed you."

Dean's cheeks flushed with color again, and he rolled his eyes. "You were only gone fifteen minutes," he said gruffly, covering. _God, I missed you too._

"Felt longer." Cas methodically pulled items from the sack and Dean leaned forward on his elbows, content to watch. He would gladly sit and observe Cas do a variety of mundane things in his neat and orderly fashion, and had, many times in the past. Dean smiled to himself; he hoped some things never changed.

After lunch they parked at the visitor center and rode a shuttle boat over to the west side of the lake so they could hike to Hidden Falls. It was mostly _up, _and Dean was glad for the frequent opportunities to stop and look at the scenery.

"Out of breath?" Cas' tongue poked against the inside of his cheek.

"Shut up," Dean said. "And give me that." He grabbed the disposable camera from Cas' fingers, turning it toward the handsome professor and snapping him mid-laugh, the rushing river churning prettily in the background. Dean frowned. "None of these are going to be awkward pictures of you, are they?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know what you mean." But Cas' eyes were sparkling and clear, and even messy and windblown, his hair was obscenely sexy. Dean knew without a doubt that Cas was hopelessly photogenic.

"Fuck me," Dean groaned under his breath. "_I'm_ going to be the dorky looking uncle, aren't I?"

Cas crowded him against an aspen. "I'm rather fond of dorky."

Dean grinned, Cas' face entirely too close to be prudent, especially on a well-traversed trail populated by families and tourists. "Yeah?"

"Mmm hmm," Cas nodded, eyes falling to Dean's mouth.

Dean let Cas kiss him anyway, tourists be damned, closing his eyes and savoring the pounding of his heart in response. They broke apart at a high-pitched giggle.

"Excuse me," a soft voice sing-songed. A tiny Japanese girl was smiling behind her hand, squeezing past them to continue up the mountainside, her disapproving elderly female relative patently ignoring Dean and Cas.

Cas wiggled his hips against Dean's. "I don't think she liked us."

Dean pecked a quick kiss to his mouth and gently pushed him back. "She's probably jealous of this fine American specimen you caught right here." He thumped his chest for emphasis.

"Hmmm," Cas mused, narrowing his brow to study Dean. "The Japanese do seem to enjoy the outlandish Americans. Which flies in the face of their love of geek."

"Hey, Sam's the geek, not me." Dean sighed as they began to climb the hill again. Maybe he should find a new gym to join when they got home.

"Oh, that's right. You're dorky."

"I'm _not_ dorky. I'm a stud." Dean stumbled over a tree root.

"Uh huh. Let me give you a little boost there, tubby." Cas pulled Dean behind him, his hand closing tight around Dean's fingers.

"Oh my God, would you stop with the fat jokes? You're going to give me a complex." Dean's lungs were on fire, but he refused to gasp for some much-needed oxygen, face red with the effort to breathe quietly.

"If you'll remember, Dean," Cas said, serene and without an _ounce_ of exertion, fuck him, "_I _ requested you skip wearing clothes altogether. You refused."

Dean smiled weakly at the elderly couple beside them, who had stopped for a breather. Grandpa quickly averted his eyes, but grandma winked at Dean.

Cas continued, oblivious. "I don't think I'd be as interested in seeing you naked if you were truly fat."

"Cas, _shut up,_" Dean huffed. But he clung to Cas' fingers, and _God,_ he loved him in that instant. All one hundred and seventy five pounds of amazingly fit and toned endurance of him.

The prize for all of the brain cells Dean lost to lack of oxygen was Hidden Falls, a cascade of water tumbling in a lovely rush of foaming white over the side of the mountain. The Japanese lady from before horned in front of Dean before he could snap a photo, and he frowned, opening his mouth to complain but slamming it shut when Cas palmed his ass.

"Give her a minute, sweetheart. She's a visitor to our country." Cas' lips were against his temple and Dean shivered. Cas hadn't used endearments in a very long time. So long, in fact, Dean was breathless for an entirely different reason than before. He might even have allowed Cas to cuddle him close for a brief moment before stepping forward to frame his shot.

The small figure stepped in front of him again and Dean frowned down at her again in consternation.

"Photo? You?" She waved her hand between he and Cas and Dean smiled as understanding dawned.

"Yes," he nodded, "thank you." Dean pulled Cas close, and she snapped the photo.

"Pretty," she said, handing the camera back.

Dean smiled at Cas' profile. "Yes, he is."

Cas laughed self-consciously and rubbed his neck. He gave the woman a small bow. "Thank you," he said politely. She bowed her head and moved away to join her family.

Coming down the mountainside was not as strenuous but certainly more exciting than going up. Dean was less shy about taking Cas' hand when he needed a grounding touch, and each brush of fingers or slide and clasp of palms was thrilling. He thought back several months to the days he had spent trying to convince himself it was _okay_ to hold Cas' hand in private; if only his past self could see Dean now. He was even sneaking small kisses and other affectionate touches whenever he felt like it, loving the way Cas warmed to the attention, seemingly craving it as much as Dean.

As exciting as touching Cas would remain, Dean assumed, for the duration of _his life_, the most exciting thing on the trail down the mountain was the bull moose who decided to confront the humans occupying his habitat. Unfortunately for the hikers on the trail, a teenage boy lost his shit and began flailing his arms and screaming; the bull moose charged, frightened and angry, and the boy barely missed being trampled over the cliff and into the river below, before the moose turned away at the last minute, diving through the underbrush and disappearing into the forest.

"Did you think you were going to protect me from _that, _Dean? Really?"

Dean could hear the amusement in Cas' voice and realized that he had shoved the other man behind him in the chaos and panic that had struck the small group. He dropped his outstretched arms. He could feel tension locking up his neck and jaw, and his heart beat a heavy staccato rhythm in his throat. It had been a while since the last time Dean faced down fear for someone's safety. Or for his heart.

He rolled his shoulders. "I thought this wide load of mine would make a good shield," he joked, voice strained.

He started when Cas wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed his chest to Dean's back. Dean felt himself relax. "You would be my shield, Dean? My knight?" he asked against Dean's cheek.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. I don't see any more hot young tour guides offering to slay your dragons." He placed his hand over Cas' at his waist and squeezed.

Cas kissed Dean's jaw, the angle awkward, but the brush of lips as welcome as the words that accompanied it. "Hot young tour guides are overrated. I much prefer gorgeous, mature, bar owners with rock hard abs." His fingers fluttered low over Dean's torso and Dean clenched his teeth, skin tingling under each feathery stroke.

"We need to get off this fucking mountain."

"Yup," Cas said, kissing his cheek again before taking the lead.

Dean enjoyed the view until the view turned and winked at him.

"You're with me, Winchester. Move it."

...

Yellowstone National Park stunk.

This was Dean's layman's opinion of course. The first geyser they stopped at was at West Thumb, on the lower west side of Lake Yellowstone. There was a small, muddy hole in the ground near the parking lot that bubbled and steamed, and it smelled of sulfur. Dean was not impressed.

Cas rolled his eyes. "This is just one small piece of it, look," he said, holding out the map. "Some of these pools are quite famous for their beautiful colors."

Dean squinted but he couldn't really see in the fading light. "I'm tired, my butt hurts, and I'm hungry." He leaned into Cas and nuzzled at his neck. "And I want you. Can we come back in the morning?"

Cas turned Dean's shoulders back towards the Impala. "How can you already be hungry? You just ate two bananas and a granola bar."

"That's not food."

"Dean. That's food." Cas slid in front of him to sit behind the wheel and held out his hand for the keys. Dean stood in the open door, mouth open. "What?"

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean asked, voice climbing in pitch.

"I'm driving. Give me the keys." Cas shut the door and rolled down the window. "And get in. It's getting cold."

"Who said you could drive," Dean grumbled, shoving the keys through the window and stalking around the front of the car.

Cas waited until Dean's seatbelt had clicked into place before he answered. "I'm a perfectly capable driver. And you need to rest. You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks," Dean sputtered indignantly.

Cas patted his knee.

"Both hands on the wheel," Dean growled, staring out the passenger side window.

"I'm going to get you the biggest, juiciest bison burger you've ever eaten," Cas began, his voice low and dark and humming with sex. Dean fidgeted restlessly in his seat. "Then, I'm going to draw you a deep, hot bath and wash away the dust and grime of the day's journey."

Dean dropped his head back against the headrest, letting Cas' smoky voice wash over him.

"Next, I'm going to put you in bed where I'll give you a massage, work all of the knots and tender places free—"

"Cas," Dean murmured.

"Yes, Dean."

"You're fucking hot."

Cas chuckled in the darkening car, flipping the headlights to bright so he could better see the road ahead. "And so are you. Now shut up and let me finish my bedtime story."

...

They made it back to West Thumb the next morning (where Dean grudgingly admitted the pools _were_ fascinatingly turquoise and lovely) before driving further west to sit on an arced wooden bench, waiting for Old Faithful to erupt.

"It says forty-five minutes."

"It's a geological anomaly, Dean, not an alarm clock."

Dean waited. "I'm not sitting here an hour and a half waiting on this thing. Can't they make it go any faster?"

Cas blinked at him, seemingly lost for words.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It was a simple question."

"I'm just contemplating our future children's academia."

Dean squirmed on the bench. "How many future children are we talking about?" The tempo of his pulse jumped tenfold.

"Four? Five?"

"Four or five! Are you out of your mind?!"

Cas looked at Dean with his serious blue eyes, all shiny and gorgeous and _Goddammit, _Dean hadn't let himself even think about _Cas_ long term yet, much less _kids!_

Cas finally shrugged. "I enjoyed growing up in a big family. How many were you thinking?"

Dean's mouth worked open and closed. "Two?" he squeaked. He was hyperventilating. Where was that damn paper bag that held his postcards from the gift shop? Dean concentrated on breathing through his nose.

Cas slid a hand along the bench until it rested on the wood beneath Dean's hip. He bumped Dean's shoulder. "Open your eyes, Dean or you'll miss it."

Dean blinked. And sure enough, Old Faithful was erupting. He smiled in delight then looked quickly at Cas, suddenly suspicious. "Was all that baby talk just to distract me?"

Cas answered by pulling Dean's face to his and kissing him enthusiastically, mindless of the crowd surrounding them. "What do you think," he whispered against Dean's mouth.

Dean watched the ancient plume of water shoot skyward, and felt carefree pleasure bubbling inside him, much like Old Faithful herself. Dean was going to explode with it, erupt with this newfound happiness until the entirety of his existence had no choice but to fall into line. He thought he might be okay with that.

"Two, Cas," he repeated, voice at a more normal pitch. "Let's start with two."

...

They were hiking at Mammoth Hot Springs, a wintry-appearing wonderland of white calcium carbonate terraces, when Sam called; Jo was in labor.

"We'll leave now, Sammy, but I don't know if we'll make it in time. Can you tell Jo to hold on for a couple of days?" Dean's face had split wide in a grin. He was going to be an uncle.

Cas held his elbow as he leaned close to Dean, so he could hear the conversation over speaker too.

"Sure Dean, I'll just tell her to cross her legs."

Dean scoffed. "Clearly, that didn't work the first time, Sam."

"Dean. Seriously." Sam's voice was harried but excited, and Dean chuckled.

"Okay, okay. I'll lay off, but just until my nephew gets here." Dean smiled into Cas' eyes, so near his own.

"Drive careful," Sam said, then added, "Hey, Cas."

Cas' eyes widened in surprise. "Hello, Sam." Cas shifted from one foot to the next. He and Sam hadn't spoken since the hospital.

"We're both excited to see you. Keep Dean under eighty, okay?"

Cas smiled at the phone in Dean's palm. "I can do that. Good luck, Sam. We'll be there as quick as we can."

Dean might have needed to swipe at his eyes a moment later, when Cas wasn't looking.

...

"I wanted to go to the Cody rodeo."

They were halfway across Wyoming now. Dean looked over at Cas in the passenger seat. "I don't know if the cowboys of Cody would have been as accepting of our epic gay love as the Japanese, Cas," he said, voice tinged with humor.

"I don't think you give Wyoming enough credit, Dean."

Dean smiled. "Maybe." He glanced down when Cas' phone lit up with a call. Balthazar.

Cas' eyes flicked to the face of the phone and then back to the window, ignoring it.

"Just answer him already," Dean said, exasperated.

"Why?"

"Because we don't have anything to hide. And as much as it pains me to say it, he deserves to hear it from you, once and for all."

Cas watched Dean for a moment as the Impala continued to swallow up the black asphalt under her tires. He slid his thumb across the phone and answered.

Dean listened to the one-sided conversation. Cas was polite but firm, friendly in a 'hey, we're colleagues' way, but leaving no room for doubt; his affections were occupied elsewhere and he was never coming back. Cas signed off by giving Dean's address for Balthazar to mail his things to.

Dean straightened, surprised. He waited until Cas had ended the call. "You remembered the house address."

Cas ducked his head in embarrassment. "Uh, no. I googled it before I left for New Mexico."

Dean remembered the journal entry where Cas had sat in the neighbor's drive, too afraid to come to the door, too afraid of what he would find waiting for him, what he would find in Dean.

"I came to the apartment in Kansas City once." Dean admitted softly. He stared out at the road stretching for miles and miles in front of him. There was a time when he had wanted nothing more than to be in this car, on a road much like this one, leading nowhere. Or everywhere. He might be okay with that even now, if Cas were in the passenger seat.

"I stood in the hall outside your door for almost an hour, sweating bullets. Too afraid to knock..." he trailed off, remembering, the raw fear, astonishingly fresh, even after all this time and all that had transpired since. Dean had found his happy ending, but it may never cease to amaze him.

Cas reached for his hand and wound their fingers tight, lacing them together. "I want to see you there, in my apartment. Something was always missing."

Dean smiled at the words.

"Our apartment, Cas said suddenly, eyes widening. His grip tightened on Dean's hand. "Ours."

"You remember that?" Dean cocked his head. "That was a good night."

Cas shook his head. "I," he paused, brow crinkling as he sifted through the fragmented pieces firing across his mind's eye. "You kissed me against the door of Lucifer's office. And said that you loved me." His voice was soft, and Dean returned the hard press of his fingers.

"I do."

Dean could feel Cas' eyes on his face, studying him. He pulled Dean's hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles. "I love you too."

Dean exhaled a long breath. He briefly considered puling the car over, parking on the side of this long stretch of empty road, claiming this moment in a more physical way; but Sam and Jo and their new baby beckoned, so he didn't. But when they stopped for the night... Well. Cas had better be prepared for some heavy duty _claiming the moment_ action. Dean was floating, helium-filled and buzzing.

Lightning could strike twice, it would seem.

He cleared his throat after a few miles. 'I like that big bed too," he said, breaking the relaxed silence.

"It always felt too big and empty to me."

Dean waited, squirming on the seat until Cas looked at him, curious. "What?

"Didn't, um," Dean chickened out. "Nevermind."

"Didn't Balthazar ever stay over?"

Dean winced. "Ow, Cas. Just rip that Band-Aid right off, hair and all."

Cas chuckled. "No."

"No, he didn't stay? Ever? Holy shit. Is he blind?" Dean's face was filled with confusion. "Or impotent?" he asked hopefully.

Cas looked at Dean fondly and shook his head again. "No, it was me. I...just couldn't. Not when I saw your face, heard your voice, every time I closed my eyes," he paused, searching for the right words. "I should have called, Dean, or—"

"Cas," Dean murmured, not wanting to rehash painful things that he personally considered over, firmly ensconced in the past. No permanent damage; if it was the last thing he did, Dean was determined that there be no permanent damage to either of them. They had survived the worst and had still found each other again. _That_ was what mattered most. Dean thought they might be hardwired at a biological level to always find each other.

"I went from thinking I was in love with Balthazar to fantasizing about you in the space of a week," Cas' mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "I woke plenty of nights in a cold sweat, terrified, lost. I would wake up with my hands reaching across that huge bed, finding nothing, no one to cling to." His thumb rubbed circles on the back of Dean's hand. "I think I always knew I was reaching for you."

Dean tightened his fingers. "You never have to worry about that again. Neither of us is going anywhere without the other." He knew Cas thought he was the fragile one, but that was a lie; Dean was the one who wouldn't survive another fall. He had learned many valuable lessons in the past year, but the one he needed Cas to understand was that he was never going to let go. Not again

"I'm holding you to that," Cas whispered, watching the fields rush by in streaks of gold outside his window.

"Ditto," Dean replied.

...

Jo was exhausted, pale and bleary eyed, her golden hair limp with sweat. Dean leaned over her bedside and kissed her brow. He felt her tense as another contraction built inside her.

"Hang on, Jo," he whispered, holding her hand. Sam had gone down to the cafeteria with Cas, for a much-needed walk to clear his head. Dean had taken over as Lamaze coach, although he had no earthly idea what he was doing. He panted in time to Jo's breaths, and she laughed breathlessly when the contraction was over.

"Good job, Dean." Her head fell against the pillow and she closed her eyes.

"How much longer, Jo? Jesus." Dean glanced at the clock. He and Cas had arrived two hours ago, making Jo's total labor time well over thirty-six hours now.

She shrugged listlessly. "Not long." She grimaced and gripped Dean's hand tight again.

"Already?" Dean's voice was panicky; that was less than a minute. He had a feeling Sam needed to get back here quick. "Should I call the nurse?"

But Jo was panting, leaning forward, straining with the pain ripping across her midsection. Dean pressed the call button numerous times and fumbled with his free hand for his phone. He pressed and held "1"; speed dial for Cas.

"Dean?"

"Sammy better get up here before I catch his baby for him," Dean said, voice shaking. Jo collapsed against the bed again, but almost immediately groaned.

Then it was a flurry of activity and Dean was shoved aside. Cas and Sam returned and Sam was given a gown and pushed toward the sink to scrub in. Dean and Cas inched their way to the door.

"Get back in here," Jo rasped from her bed, face red with exertion.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "I'm not staying!"

Even Cas was speechless, looking cautiously from Sam to Dean and back to Jo.

"Yes. You are." Jo's voice was ferocious and eerily strong. Dean wondered bleakly if maybe she had been possessed. He looked at Cas and they both hesitated. Cas shrugged, a smile playing at his lips, but Dean shook his head furiously.

"Jo, I don't want to see your hoo hah!" Dean blushed, and one of the nurses readying the room chuckled.

"Oh my _God,_ Dean. Would you put the damn gown on already? You're such a chicken shit."

"Hold on, don't push yet," the nurse murmured, trying to calm Jo.

Cas shoved Dean toward the sink with more enthusiasm than Dean thought was warranted.

"I don't want to do this," he grumbled, forcing down the panic that clawed at his throat. Cas bumped his elbows aside and began to scrub his own hands and knuckles vigorously.

"It's a miracle, Dean. I'm honored Jo would ask us to witness it."

Dean felt tears pushing against his eyelids and he was overcome with a multitude of emotions. "I love you, Cas."

Cas kissed him, quick, then looked pointedly at the packaged foam scrubber.

"For the love of _fuck,_ Dean. Stop necking and come _on." _Jo's voice was a mixture of pain, the ultimate girl power, and stark affection.

Dean laughed. "Coming, Jo."

...

Samuel Mason Winchester was born at 8:05 p.m. on June 24, weighing nine pounds, eight ounces. He was twenty-one inches long.

His Uncle Cas filmed his birth, digitally capturing the love, affection and fortitude of Mason's new family during the moments he joined them in this world.

His Uncle Dean fainted.

...

Dean held the tiny bundle of blue, swaying gently from side to side. Cas peered over his shoulder, impatiently waiting his turn.

"Stop hovering," Dean murmured. He touched a fingertip to the tiny rosebud mouth and smiled when it opened, Mason's face turning into the touch.

"Stop hogging my nephew," Cas returned, just as soft.

They swayed in tandem, the baby's deep blue eyes staring intently up at them.

"He's clearly much smarter than the other babies in the nursery. He already recognizes us."

"Mmm hmmm," Cas replied. "And he has your nose."

"He does?" Dean's voice was full of wonder.

Cas kissed his cheek. "He does."

"Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"Three." Dean stopped swaying and turned to carefully pass the baby into Cas' waiting hands.

"What?" Cas asked distractedly, nestling the infant in the crook of his arm. Mason sighed a sweet, soft sound that made both men smile.

"Three babies might be okay." Dean winked at Cas' surprised glance.

Cas recovered, quick. "Four's a nice even number."

Dean leaned over to kiss his nephew's downy head. "Don't push it, Professor."

Cas just smiled, and Dean accepted the reality of his life: He was utterly hopeless when it came to denying Cas whatever he wanted. Dean knew it, Cas knew it, hell, baby Mason probably knew it.

Dean was desperately in love with Cas, and Cas was wholly devoted to Dean.

Dean could compromise on all the rest.

...


	24. Chapter 24

...

Dean had nearly forgotten about Anna's wedding in the wake of his new nephew's birth, until Cas arranged for him to meet him at Nordstrom's for a tuxedo fitting. Dean might have been more affected than Cas when Anna had asked him to walk her down the aisle. He had never told Cas about the day he and Anna had sat in ICU together, one of them praying and the other praying for the prayers to be heard.

"Why do I have to wear a tux? You're the one giving her away," Dean complained.

"Because I want to take it off of you at the end of the night."

Dean swallowed, face heating. "Damn, Cas, give me a little warning, huh?" He pushed Cas against the dressing room door and leaned in for a kiss.

Cas held him off. "Not until you're measured," he teased. Dean groaned in frustration.

He stepped back when the door opened and a familiar hot pink button down appeared.

"Holy fuck! Dean Winchester," the fashion consultant cried. He threw his arms open for a hug and Dean grudgingly stepped into it, patting Christopher's back lightly.

"Christopher," Dean glanced warily between the small man holding the tape measure and Cas. "This is Castiel Novak. Cas, this is Christopher. He helped me out the last time I needed to get fancy threads."

Christopher's eyes were glassy and he moved surreptitiously closer to Cas; Dean groaned inwardly. He knew that look. Goddamn, could _no one_ in this godforsaken country keep their paws off his boyfriend?

"Mmmm. Very nice to meet you, Castiel" Christopher murmured, his inflection on Cas' formal name lilting.

"Christopher," Dean said sharply and the other man blinked.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Focus."

Cas watched the exchange in amusement, not entirely understanding the undercurrent he could sense, but enjoying Dean's possessiveness just the same. Christopher snapped deftly into his role and efficiently measured, recorded and dressed each of them from the skin out until they stood before him, twin visions of magnificent, formal splendor.

He clapped his hands, delighted. "Perfect," he breathed. His eyes still lingered a shade too long on Cas' face and Dean scowled.

Christopher snapped a photo of them with Cas' phone, and Cas stepped outside to send it to Anna for approval.

"Holy _Jesus,_ Dean," Christopher moaned. "He's _gorgeous_." He fanned himself.

"He's also mine." Dean's face brooked no argument and Christopher recovered quickly, holding up his right hand, scout's honor.

"Duly noted," the fashion consultant said solemnly. "Lucky bastard."

Dean winked. "You have no idea."

Cas returned to find the two chuckling, heads bent over a recent issue of Us Magazine. "Did I miss anything important?"

"Oh no," Christopher sang merrily. "I was just going to ring you up." He winked at Dean and glided from the dressing room.

Dean pulled Cas against him and kissed him soundly.

Cas was breathless when Dean lifted his head. "What was that for?"

"Because you're hotter than six hells and everyone wants you."

Cas laughed, the sound carefree and sweet in Dean's ear. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, Dean."

"No, I'm not. If you were a woman, I could put a ring on your finger and this wouldn't happen," Dean pouted, pulling him close again. Their tongues danced together, teasing and warm, until Cas pushed him gently aside and began to get undressed.

"You can still put a ring on my finger, Dean," he said lightly.

There was a beat of silence, the only sound the rustle of a tuxedo jackets as they were replaced on hangers.

"Maybe I will," Dean said, dropping a kiss to the back of Cas' neck.

"And would you wear one for me?" Cas glanced at Dean in the mirror.

Dean's face was somber, intent as it met his gaze. "Yes."

The mirror got a little foggy in the quiet moments that followed.

...

Anna's wedding was no society affair. Oh sure, the tuxedos and formal dresses, and the sedate Catholic ceremony set it a notch above the casual weddings Dean had obligingly attended for friends and family over the years, but the celebration after was familiar in its joyous, raucous fun. Dean was shocked to find he was having a ball.

Gabriel had brought not one but _two_ strippers to the wedding, much to the disgust of Anna and the amusement of Lucifer and Michael. Both of the elder Novak's had shaken Dean's hand warmly when he and Cas had arrived, rendering Dean speechless for a solid hour.

Lucifer still gave him the heebies though; there was something piercing about his stare as it cut into Dean. It was as though he could see right into Dean's mind. And on the off chance he _could,_ Dean made sure his mind was filled with thoughts of naked, enthusiastic sex with Cas throughout most of the evening. This was a counterproductive move, as it turned out; Dean was constantly horny.

At one point he had to drag Cas into the coat closet and hide behind the flimsy wraps and dinner jackets and kiss him senseless. Cas had willingly obliged, although he _had_ insisted Dean keep his hands above the waist. So Dean went as wicked as he dared with his tongue. This was also counterproductive, because Cas' own tongue was lethal and Dean had no willpower.

Dean had to hide in the coat closet an extra five minutes alone until he was able to walk upright again.

Gabriel dragged Dean on stage with him when the clock was well past one a.m., when the karaoke machine had been unveiled. Dean had had too many tequila shots to refuse; his head was fuzzy, his limbs were tingling, and his eyes were bleary. But he could make out Cas' sexy, dark head in the faces below, and it was distracting enough that Gabriel took the unforeseen advantage and picked the song himself.

When the intro twanging chords began to play, Dean groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"This is for my dear brother Castiel, from his not so secret admirer, Dean," Gabe trilled into the microphone. He leaned heavily on Dean's arm, and Dean wondered how long it would be until they both tumbled face first into the crowd.

Gabe poked him in the ribs when Dean missed the cue for the first verse.

"I'm shameless," Dean hurried to catch up, off key but boisterous. "When it comes to loving you. I'll do anything you want me to—"

Gabe broke in to finish the line. "I'll go down upon my knees," he sang lasciviously, wagging his eyebrows to the delight of the spectators, who roared their approval.

Dean slapped Gabriel's microphone aside. "Wrong line, douchebag." He focused on Cas' face in the audience. "I'm standing," he sang, "here for all the world to see, oh baby that's what's left of me."

Gabe shoved in front again. "I don't have very far, to faa-aall."

Dean chuckled as they sang the chorus in terrible, ear-splitting harmony. In Dean's experience, karaoke was best done full out, especially if you weren't a gifted singer. Dean could hold his own; Gabe was terrible.

When they left the stage at the end of the song to cheers and laughter, several guests slapped Dean's back. Dean remembered the night of Anna's engagement party, when most of these people had barely acknowledged his presence in the room. He wondered, blearily, if it had been the near loss of Cas himself, an irrefutable example that life could be shockingly bleak and unpredictable, that had brought about their acceptance.

When he found Cas in the throng of guests, he decided he didn't care.

"That was quite a performance, Winchester," Cas said against his ear.

"Mmm, your brother is an asshat." Dean smiled, liking the way Cas' eyes followed his mouth. He leaned a fraction closer. "Let's go home."

...

Dean didn't get his night in a fancy hotel; he had had enough hotels for a while. No, he had requested the bedroom in the Kansas City penthouse, where the giant bed waited, where Cas had lain without Dean for too many months.

The apartment looked the same as the last night Dean had spent there. His eyes fell on the piano tucked into the corner; tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would have Cas play for him. Cas didn't let him linger in the living room long, pushing him toward the bedroom, untying Dean's bowtie and dropping it to the floor, peeling away the tuxedo jacket and letting it fall, stepping over it. Cufflinks went next, a jewel-toned clink against the hardwood. He pulled the tails of the white dress shirt free, sighing when he was able to run his hands along Dean's flat stomach.

While Cas undressed him, Dean simply watched, enjoying the attention, loving the hell out of Cas' expressions. Cas urged him onto the bed and stretched out on top of Dean, grinding his hips down once, twice, until Dean was panting into his mouth, hands gripping those narrow hips, holding him in place. Dean had missed this, _God_, he'd spent so many months dreaming of this, he didn't know if he could ever have enough. Cas nuzzled under his chin and Dean stretched his neck, granting him better access, moaning as Cas bit and sucked at the tender skin.

"God, Cas," Dean breathed. He pulled Cas' shirt free, running his palms across the warm skin underneath.

Cas paused in his exploration long enough to sit up and remove his shirt entirely, then set to work on the front of Dean's. He spread it open, nails grazing over Dean's nipples, smiling when Dean shuddered lightly under the touch. He lowered his chest to Dean's, swallowing his gasp, mouths fusing together.

Dean was hard, and still buzzed; he didn't know how much of this he could take, but he thought there was a very real possibility he would cry if Cas stopped what he was doing with that sinful tongue just now on his neck. Dean rutted into his hips, aching, pain and pleasure combining.

Cas' lips returned to his cheek. "I want you, Dean." He dropped his voice low. "I want to feel you inside me."

Dean breathed through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart. Then Cas' beautiful fingers were unzipping his fly, sliding under the waist of his boxers, stroking, pulling him free to the cool night air of the bedroom, pumping Dean in his fist and kissing him breathless.

"Cas, _GodJesusfuck_," Dean groaned, mumbling nonsense, then he was pulling Cas' hand away. "Hey," he gasped. Cas glared down at him, ferocious expression on his face and Dean laughed, winded. "Can we slow down a little? My head is spinning." He leaned up on an elbow and caught Cas' mouth again in apology.

Cas kissed him long and deep, sighing contentedly as they fell flat against the bed again, allowing Dean to ease the frantic pace. He dragged a palm down Dean's arm, finding and linking their fingers, and nosed at his temple. "Where's your bag?"

Dean knew what he was asking for, and he flushed, glad it was too dark for Cas to see his face clearly. "I don't have any, Cas, I..." he buried his face in Cas' hair. "We've never done this before."

Cas stilled on top of him, pulling Dean's face away so he could see his eyes, frowning in consternation. "We've had sex before, Dean. I remember. Last night you—"

Dean stopped him, covering his mouth with a kiss, the joy that bubbled up inside him foreign, nearly forgotten, and its bright sting stole the breath from his lungs.

"No, _yes," _he huffed. "Yes, we've had lots of sex." He ignored Cas' snort. "But we've never, you know," Dean trailed off, screwing his eyes shut. "We've never done that."

"Why not?" Cas asked, baffled, and Dean was both fascinated and amused by it. This was a piece of Cas he hadn't known from before; that Cas had wanted this, expected it, and Dean hadn't given it to him. It was scary and exhilarating and new, and Dean wasn't entirely sure which explanation was the right one to give.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I want to. I want to make love to you, Cas."

Cas' eyes softened and he leaned into a languid kiss, sliding his hips along Deans until they were both aching again, the slip of cock on cock almost too intense. "Then make love to me, Dean."

Dean let Cas take the lead, let him kiss away his nervousness as he finished undressing them, hands gentle and searching as he taught Dean, whispering words of encouragement when Dean hesitated, unsure. He pressed a tube into his hands from the nightstand drawer and Dean blushed, returning to his lips again, needing the reassurance and the deep, abiding love he found there. He touched him, allowed his hands the opportunity to learn Cas in a new way, cataloging which movements brought the softest sighs, which made Cas writhe in pleasure. Cas pushed his fingers deeper, directing the motions, and Dean concentrated as he worked him open, searching for that magical sweet spot he knew lurked deep inside. When he found it, Cas tensed and Dean smiled as a pink flush suffused Cas' skin.

"Now, Dean," he moaned, hips twitching, hands tugging hard at Dean's hair. Dean bit softly on the inside of Cas' thigh, laving a kiss there, then slowly eased his fingers out. Cas whimpered in protest, but was still too debauched to do more than watch, pulling at Dean's arms impatiently as he applied a generous amount of the slippery liquid to himself, before pressing between Cas' legs.

Dean hadn't been inside another body since before he and Cas had met; it made the sensations more exquisite, more intense, hot, hot pressure and delicious friction. Dean and Cas cried out at the same time, causing them both to laugh gently, finding each other's mouths, sealing together as they rocked into one another.

Dean found a rhythm, following Cas' guiding hands, until the heat and motion was too much, too great, and his movements stuttered, faltering, as he lost control and came, Cas' name on his lips. Cas pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him, holding him close, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck.

Dean's face was plastered in Cas' throat and he smiled wearily against the damp skin. "_Fuck_, baby. You're amazing."

Cas laughed, dark and sexy, holding him tight. "Yeah? Want to return the favor?" He steered one of Dean's hands to his hardness, sandwiched and throbbing between them.

"Gladly," Dean whispered, but he lowered his head instead of his hand and Cas didn't have the energy or the breath to complain, mouth falling open wordlessly when Dean's lips closed around him. Dean wanted to draw it out, extend the night forever, if possible, but Cas was too close.

Dean lay his cheek against Cas' stomach, loving the fine tremble of his skin afterward, and the way his hands carded through Dean's hair, holding him close. Cas gently rearranged them until they lay facing, one hand splayed across Dean's chest, above his heart, as if to assure himself of the beat beneath the taut skin. Dean kept one palm curled around Cas hip, each possessing, each possessed.

"Dean," Cas said quietly.

"Yeah Cas?"

"I'm glad I didn't lose this memory."

Dean pulled him closer, tightening his arms around him, too overwhelmed to speak for a long moment. "Cas?"

"Mmm," Cas murmured sleepily, face in Dean's neck.

"I love you."

Cas' lips pressed against his skin, a brief touch of tongue and soft mouth. "I love you, Dean."

As Dean drifted to sleep, he knew he was smiling.

...

In the morning, Dean awoke to the muted strains of a piano piece, melancholy and sweet. He blinked sleepily, smiling when his stomach growled, and climbed from the bed. He padded to Cas' dresser, digging around for pajama pants, tying the drawstring low around his waist.

Cas sat at the piano (sadly, not naked, as Dean had hoped), his pale back flexing in the morning light that filtered through the wall of windows. Dean dropped a kiss to his shoulder.

"Morning."

"Good morning, Dean." Cas smiled up at him and Dean couldn't resist bending to meet his mouth. A chord hung a beat too long in the air until Dean straightened and walked to the kitchen.

Eggs, he decided, standing in front of the open refrigerator, scratching his belly. He scrambled several in a bowl, knowing that was Cas' preferred style, and added bacon to a second skillet. He smiled. God bless Cas and his indulgence of Dean's love of fatty pork products.

They ate sitting at the counter, smiling at each other over the black granite.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Dean added too much butter to a triangle of toast and passed it to Cas.

Cas frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. Movie?"

"Hmmm," Dean chewed on a slice of bacon. "How about lots of hot sex on the floor in front of the flatscreen?"

Cas smirked. "While watching a movie."

Dean shrugged. "Sure, if that's what you want. Do I get to pick the movie?" He leered, and Cas laughed.

"No porn."

Dean shook his head sadly. "You're really a buzz kill sometimes, you know that?"

They ate in silence for a few more moments until Dean began to fidget in his seat.

"What's the matter?" Cas asked.

"Nothing," Dean said, frowning before blurting, "I bought you a present."

Cas' eyes widened. "You did? Why?"

Dean stood and walked to his duffle bag on the sofa, where he had dropped it the day before. He dug around until he pulled a crumpled box from inside. "Do I have to have a reason?"

Cas accepted the messily wrapped gift, holding it carefully in his hands.

"It won't break, Cas. Open it." Dean sat back on his barstool, pushing his plate aside and leaning his elbows on the table eagerly.

Cas tore the paper away, and opened the plain white box. Nestled in tissue was a leather bound journal, much like Cas' previous one. He looked up at Dean, curiously.

Dean reached for it, hefting it in one hand. "I knew yours was almost full. And see, this one is extra thick, with lots of pages."

Cas' eyes were soft when he took the book and fanned through it. "There's writing in this."

"I know," Dean said quietly. "I started first."

Cas cocked his head questioningly and Dean bit his lip before continuing. "I wrote in the memories you didn't get back; well, all of them, actually. Everything I remember from the moment you walked into the bar, until the day of the accident." He fell silent, and Cas reached over to cup his jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Dean released a shuddering sigh and continued. "It's not entirely in order," he chuckled, sheepish. "And I didn't leave out any of the good sex parts, like you did."

Cas snorted, flipping through the handwritten pages again, Dean's memories of them. "Dean," he whispered. He read over one of the passages, smiling in amusement. Dean had titled each entry; this one was called _'Closet Space'. _He leaned forward and caught Dean's waiting mouth in a tender kiss. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Dean said, voice rough with emotion. "I love you." He kissed him again, lingering. "Now you take over, continue writing your grocery lists, and the things you need to remember, or whatever."

"My grocery lists don't belong in this," Cas exclaimed, fiercely clutching the journal to his chest.

Dean rolled his eyes and pried the book loose. "Yes, they do."

He opened it to the inside cover, where he had written an inscription.

_For Cas,_

_I'll take care of the Past for you, if you'll take care of the Present for me._

_All my love,_

_Dean_

_ps...Don't scrimp on the dirty bits. You're a better writer than me._

Cas laughed softly, then gently placed the book on the table beside his forgotten breakfast, pulling Dean to his feet and kissing him thoroughly. "I love you, more than you will ever know."

Dean smiled against his mouth when Cas' tongue did that thing he loved so much. "That, that right there," he murmured, smacking his lips. Cas nibbled on his jaw. "Make sure you describe that, I couldn't figure out what to call—"

Cas covered his mouth again, effectively shutting Dean up, intent on making new memories immediately, filled with plenty of 'dirty bits', which he totally planned to write down later in blinding, Technicolor detail.

He would title it, '_Forever_'.

...


	25. Epilogue

Cas sat up in bed. "Dean," he said frantically.

Dean tucked an arm around his waist. "Mmm? Bad dream?" He cuddled him close. Dean would deny it until the end of time, but he was something of a cuddler, especially when it came to Cas.

"The vase. Dean, _the vase_!"

Dean scrubbed his face and leaned up on an elbow. "What the hell are you talking about, Cas? Are you awake?" He waved his hand in front of his face and Cas swatted it away.

"Stop that. Of course I'm awake."

"What vase," Dean tried again, wide awake now. "Wait, do you mean Wilson?"

"Wilson? What the fuck are you talking about? Are _you_ awake?"

"Wilson, the vase I stole from the Lawrence dig."

"Why did you name a vase?"

"Because," Dean pursed his lips. "You know what? Nevermind. You wouldn't understand."

"I resent that, Dean. I –"

Dean pulled Cas' face to his, tongue delving deep and sweeping into the recesses of his mouth to shut him up. Which usually worked, but this time Cas shoved him back. "Don't distract me. I _lost_ Wilson."

Dean sighed. His dick was _so_ not on board with this discussion; it wanted to go back to kissing and fondling and— "Wait. You lost the vase? Where? When?"

"I left it in my rental car in New Mexico when we left for the Grand Canyon."

Dean scowled. "You mean _Balthazar_ has it."

Cas smiled apologetically. "Maybe? He probably has it out at the dig site. It wasn't in the box of my belongings he shipped to me here." His eyes narrowed. "You know what? He's probably going to claim it as one of his own finds."

Dean groaned, throwing back the blanket. "And you're just remembering this now? I don't see how you could have forgotten to grab him that morning. We weren't even having sex yet."

"Oh, I don't know," Cas shot back sarcastically. "Maybe...severe head injury? Or possibly the lingering, you know, _amnesia_?"

"Funny." Dean got out of bed and started pulling on his jeans.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get our vase."

"In New Mexico."

"Uh huh. "

"Locked in an archaeological excavation site."

"Won't be the first time."

Cas chewed his lip and then got out of bed. "Okay."

...

Crossing the Oklahoma prairie and the Texas panhandle was a hell of a lot more fun with Cas along for the ride, Dean discovered.

Breaking into the dig site and stealing Wilson was, again, shockingly easy.

"You people need to beef up your security," Dean whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Cas asked, voice booming across the desert night.

"Shhh." Dean shushed him, exasperated.

"What? No one is here, Dean, besides—" Cas stopped when he found himself with a mouthful of Winchester. He sighed when Dean leaned back. "I love you."

Dean snorted. "You mean you want my body naked underneath you right the fuck now."

"That too," Cas smiled and pecked another quick kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. "Let's get out of here."

...

Cas looked sideways at Dean when he took the west exit instead of the east on I-40. "You're going the wrong way."

"No I'm not."

"Am I losing time again," Cas asked drily.

"Not funny," Dean frowned at him. "For the _thousandth time."_

Cas smirked. "It's a little bit funny."

"No, it's really not."

Cas unhooked his seatbelt and slid across the front seat to place a lingering kiss on Dean's throat, just below his ear. "Yes, it is."

Dean leaned into the mouth pressing heated kisses against his skin. "You, uh," he cleared his throat. "You need to put your seatbelt back on, mister."

"You need to pull over."

A hand clutched Dean's thigh, then started to inch higher.

"Cas!"

Cas chuckled, giving Dean's thigh one more squeeze before sliding back to his side of the car.

"So where are we going then?" He yawned and put his feet on the dash.

"Feet off the dash," Dean said automatically. Cas rolled his eyes, ignoring him. Dean leaned over and pushed his feet back into the floor, then gestured at the glove box. "Open that."

Cas popped the glovebox open and waited for Dean's next instruction, enjoying the way the early morning light caressed his face with a soft golden glow. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

Dean snorted. "Yes, I'm a handsome motherfucker. Now grab that list. We missed a few before."

Cas smiled, pulling out the well-worn sheet of notebook paper. He contemplated the ones that hadn't been crossed through with pen or pencil, frowning at the tiny scrawling script in the upper right corner that read _Cas loves my cock more than Jesus._

"Well. We're heading in the right general direction for Yosemite," he said.

"El Capitan," Dean murmured in delight with a terrible Spanish accent. He urged the Impala a little faster.

...

They were sitting under a McDonald's drive thru window, Dean smiling up at the pretty young blonde who handed him his change and the first sack of food.

"I don't love your cock more than Jesus," Cas said a shade too loud.

The blonde's smile faltered and Dean closed his eyes in resignation. 'Thanks," he said to the girl, shoving a Coke in Cas' hand and rolling up his window.

"You said it," Dean muttered. "Not me."

Cas took a long drink of the sugary, carbonated beverage, enjoying the burn in his nostrils. "I can't be held responsible for what I say in the throes of orgasm, Dean."

"Yes you can."

"Really? So I can hold you to the time you told me you would sign over the title to the Impala right that minute, because, in your words..._ ThankYouJesus, AnythingYouWant, BabyYou'reSoGoodAtThat, Don'tEverStop_." He embellished with a few breathless moans and gasps.

"Stop that!" Dean squirmed on the front seat. He grinned, biting his lip. "What would you take in trade?"

Cas considered carefully. "A dog."

Dean sputtered. "A dog?" Then he remembered. Cas' dream dog. "Hmm. Maybe. But you still love my cock more than Jesus. Admit it."

"Nuh uh," Cas wagged a finger. "If you get to trade, I do. What do you want, Winchester?"

Dean grinned. "You have to call me El Capitan whenever we're having sex."

Cas stared at him for a beat. "I love your cock more than Jesus."

Dean nodded, smug. "That's what I thought."

_fin_

_**Author's Note:**__ Seriously, guys. I love you. I couldn't have finished this without your encouragement and lovely, funny, heartwarming reviews. Including the ones that cussed me out. LUV U GUYS! This was my first ever venture into fandom, my first ever fanfic, and I might be addicted for life. I guess it's obvious, I probably won't be able to stay away from these two forever! _


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